Second Chances
by jhoom
Summary: When Castiel falls, truly and completely, he finds himself reborn human. This is his journey as he navigates his way through humanity.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** This is my first attempt at a longer Supernatural fic. I plan on three parts total (but we'll see, all I know is that's the minimum). Will be updating on tumblr jhoomwrites first

* * *

When Castiel falls - truly and irrevocably - he falls in the same way Anna did. A young boy is born with eyes the most vivid shade of blue you'll ever see, and somewhere a willow tree takes root.

His parents are wonderful, understanding people. They accept him, with all of his youthful quirks that he never quite grows out of.

It takes him nearly two years to start talking. His parents worry, but the doctors assure them this isn't uncommon. Some children wait until they can say everything they want before saying anything at all. So for two years he sits quietly, taking it all in, before he speaks his first words.

He's also a very serious and solemn child, wanting to know everything but only superficially satisfied when he learns something new. He approaches learning not with the eagerness of discovery but with a slight annoyance. Annoyance that he doesn't already know it.

The most striking is how stingy he is with his smiles. He's warm, friendly with eyes that light up in delight at even the most trivial things. But a true smile, a gummy thing that lights up the whole room, is rarely given. Even his parents, whom he adores, have to work for it.

* * *

His parents name him Thomas. Later he'll be Tommy and later still Tom. It's a name he'll never like. He doesn't hate it or even dislike it. It just doesn't... fit.

So much of his life doesn't quite fit right. For most of his childhood he feels too small. When he finally breaks 6 feet at 16, he is inexplicably pleased and relieved. He is no longer as awkward and clumsy as he appeared as a small child, the complete opposite of other boys his age when they hit a growth spurt. It's almost as though his body is starting to grow into him. He finds it strange, because he thought it was supposed to be the other way around.

His height was not the only way he felt inadequate growing up. His mother said he had a lovely voice and encouraged him to sing in the school choir. And he did, because he enjoyed singing and to please his lovely mother. Yet it was something he had always been self-conscious about. He always felt his voice was a few octaves too high.

After he reaches a height he finds agreeable, he holds out hope that soon his voice will drop to match this shadowy image of himself he's always had.

The only thing that's ever seemed right was his hair, jet black and somehow perfect.

And his eyes. Of course his eyes.

His hair is a perpetual mess, despite his parents efforts to get him to comb it. But he can't be bothered to style it. His younger sister jokes he's trying to look like Harry or James Potter. He frowns, not because he's annoyed but because he can't help but think he likes the name James. It's still not right, still doesn't fit. But it's closer.

* * *

He grows up lonely. There's no reason he should ever feel that word describes him. He has his parents, a younger sister, aunts and uncles and cousins that he sees a few times a year. He's not exactly popular - he's a little strange, and even when they're children, his classmates pick up on it - but his kindness and uniqueness have made him well liked. In no way is he lacking in friends or family, there is no want of companionship.

But in the quiet of his room at night, he feels lonely. There's something missing. Someone. It's like a person-shaped hole inside him, deep in his gut. What's worse is that he doesn't know who he lacks. Doesn't know what to look for or begin to try to find them.

What's _worst_ is that sometimes he wakes up at night, skin alive and tingling with longing. A longing that hurts like a physical ache. A longing that isn't even his own.

His first kiss is a girl named Elizabeth Sanders. She lives a few doors down. They're seven and playing house. It's so cliche that it's almost embarassing when he's old enough to realize it.

His first girlfriend is Molly McLean from across town. They're in choir together and it just makes sense. But it's middle school, so it should be no surprise it lasts no more than a month.

His first boyfriend is the new boy in town. They first meet at the mom and pop ice cream shop. His eyes dazzle him and he has a confidence in his gait that Thomas can't help but admire. He's flirty, and Thomas stutters his way through a conversation he won't be able to remember later.

When it's over, his sister dramatically rolls her eyes at him.

"What?" he asks and knows his cheeks are burning impressively.

" _Really?"_ Rolling her eyes again, she licks to keep her ice cream from dripping onto her hand. She must understand his confusion because she finally elaborates. "That guy is _so_ your type it's pathetic."

"My type?"

Incredulous, she raises her eyebrows at him. "Dirty blond with green eyes?" He continues to stare at her blankly. "Like _every single person_ you have _ever_ dated or crushed on. Like, e _ver_. I like, don't even need to exaggerate to make that a true statement."

He opens his mouth to argue, but when he thinks about it, it's completely true. Every pair of eyes he's ever felt himself get lost in all have one thing in common.

They date for the summer, and although they get along well and the chemistry is good, the longer it goes on the more it feels like it's lacking. His eyes just aren't the right shade of green. Their kisses just don't give him butterflies the way they should. His laugh doesn't light up his day, and his smile isn't something he chases.

Regrettably, he ends it the week before school starts back up.

It's another part of his life that just doesn't _fit._

* * *

Thomas is 16, almost 17, and beginning to look into colleges and narrow down possible majors. His interests are eclectic at best. He loves watching the stars in the night sky - could do it for hours. The names of constellations come easily to him.

But he loves plants, has a small garden tucked away in the back corner of his parents' yard. Each year he takes care choosing what to grow, though always planting flowers he knows all attract bees. He likes to just sit in the garden, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying knowing he created this small piece of heaven.

And there's his love - and aptitude - for languages. He studies each and every one his high school offers, sometimes grabs a "Learn Such-and-Such-Language in 30 Days!" book just to pass the time.

Perhaps most surprising of all is his love of food. He appreciates everything from a basic burger to the caviar his parents let him try at that fancy restaurant for his birthday. It all tastes amazing and he loves it all. He and his father cook together on weekends. They try a new recipe each week, a father-son bonding activity they started when he was ten and that they've kept up. They do occasionally go back to old dishes, trying to perfect them.

There is one in particular, actually, that Thomas insists they try again and again. It's just a simple apple pie. He's not even particularly fond of pie and why apple pie especially would tickle his fancy, well, he just can't explain it. But it's important to him that he gets it right. By the time he's learned how to drive, he's confident it's one of the bestin the state. He's tempted to enter it in a baking contest just to prove it.

Which of these things he wants to pursue beyond high school is still an area of debate. These are hobbies, really, more than things he sees as future career paths. It's not until he's 17 and a few weeks from graduation that his true calling finds him...


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Looking like I'll be doing this in (at least) four parts? We'll see if the characters cooperate :) I'll up the rating later on (if necessary... probably necessary), and updates will be to tumblr first jhoomwrites

* * *

Long story short, someone in town dies violent. It's all over the local news and papers. But that's not what catches Thomas' attention. There are strange occurences in the house where they died. Accidents that almost kill people. Everyone's dismissive. The family is distraught, imagining things. Clearly.

He knows better. He doesn't know _how_ he knows, but he knows. A few searches online confirm what he suspects.

Salt and burn.

A term he learns digging through websites that others would dismiss as jokes or the workings of distrubed individuals. It sounds familiar, and despite what his limited first hand experience tells him (sprained wrist and bruised hip), it sounds easy.

He makes a decision. Rash, perhaps, but he's instantly satisfied once it's been made. He's going to be a hunter.

Not that he knows that term. Hunter. Not in this sense. He doesn't learn it until his third ghost. Runs into another kid around his age, doing the same thing.

Except he's been trained by his mother and is infinitely more prepared. Which is of little comfort when they're both getting slammed into a wall. But it makes for interesting conversation after.

Thomas decides to spend the summer with this other boy. He learns as much as he can, both from his companion and now fellow-hunter, and from books and internet research. It comes as easily to him as... well, perhaps it comes more easily than anything else he's ever tried. It _fits_. It _suits_ him. And he loves that feeling.

It's that love of this feeling of _belonging_ (and the immense relief from surviving that werewolf attack) that leads to him clumsily fucking his new hunter friend against a wall.

But it only lasts the summer.

* * *

His parents wouldn't be happy with his choice - not that they would believe our understand it - so he continues with his plans to go to college. He's pleased with the school he had already chosen months ago. Not for the programs they offer but for its location. Close to major highways so that he can travel for cases.

With his course load, he only manages to squeeze in a few hunts a semester. He stays local as much as possible, if for no other reason than the cost of gas. And while his classes are engaging, he knows that he will at best finish his Bachelor's and then be done with it. He'll find a job that allows him to continue hunting.

He enjoys it. Saving people. Hunting things. It brings him a peace he didn't know he'd been lacking his whole life.

It does strike him as a lonely type of life, though. So much time spent alone on the road. Yes, you make connections with the people you help. But then you're gone. He's not sure if he feels sad about the prospect. He's always felt lonely, even with people around, and he doesn't feel _more_ lonely now.

* * *

Of course he misses his family, as to be expected when you leave home to go to school. There's also a bit of undelrying guilt. While he is not _technically_ lying about what he's doing, he is not being open about it. He tries to convince himself that it's because he doesn't want to scare them or have them worrying about him. But when he's honest, it's because he doesn't want them to try and stop him.

Thomas survives his first year of college. And hunting. He's not sure which is the more impressive feat.

He spends a month at home. His parents (and even his sister) are glad to have him back. To avoid any unnecessary questions, he refrains from hunting while there. But he does take a martial arts class and sneaks out to the shooting range on weekends.

His parents wouldn't care about him learning to shoot, but they would flip if they found out about the gun he had purchased last winter. And it shouldn't have been an issue, except that his sister finds his ammo one evening. She doesn't want to rat him out, though. She just wants him to teach her too.

* * *

When he hunts, he rarely encounters other hunters. Sometimes he'll run into others going after the same monster or ghost. Sometimes he'll correspond with them via email or on a forum. There's a community of them out there, killing the things that go bump in the night, and he takes comfort in that.

He slowly picks up the lingo. Learns the tips and tricks. A good old-fashioned haunting doesn't take more than a day of his time, maybe two if the investigation takes a while. Monsters take a bit more, but he's never needed more than four days to finish up in a town and head back to school. He's surprised at the variety of creatures out there. But all in all he's good at hunting. Dangerous though it might be flying solo, he's extremely effective.

The only problem area is gathering intel. Libraries, record halls and the internet provide the bulk of the info he needs, but sometimes seeing the body up close is essential. He knows other hunters disguise themselves as FBI and the like, but he looks too young to pull it off. His height and (now thankfully) deep voice do nothing to disguise the fact that he isn't even old enough to drink yet. So he learns to lock-pick and sneak into places.

His mother would be furious.

* * *

He's 20 when he first hears of them.

It's at some hole in the war bar with a pair of twins he'd run into on this hunt. They didn't grow up in the life. Like him, they picked it up in college, though they're about six years older than him.

They have a comfortable buzz going - and yes, this town is so backwater they didn't even bother to card him. As always when with other hunters, they're comparing kills. While Thomas' most impressive hunt is when he single handedly exorcized a demon. The twins, though clearly intrigued that this nerdy kid had pulled it off, smile knowingly before leading into their all time best hunt.

"Took out almost half the vamp nest before they even knew what hit them." She smirks at the memory as she sips her beer.

"It was _awesome_ ," her sister agrees. But her smile turns a little sour around the edges. "Would've been even better if the damn Winchesters hadn't shown up. They come in halfway through and take all the credit."

The sisters start arguing about whether they needed the help - one adamant that they could've handled it, the other not so sure since it turns out the vampires were being controlled by a nasty coven of wtiches. But it doesn't matter, Thomas has stopped listening.

 _Winchester_.

It knocks the breath from his lungs. It makes him light-headed. It nearly causes his knees to give out. The twins know next to nothing, just enough to get him curious when he presses for more info. After that night, every chance he gets, Thomas greedily seeks out as much as he can about them.

They're legends among the hunting community (and among the monsters, but he rarely has a chance to ask them about it). They both started and then stopped the Apocalypse. They stopped (and unleashed?) the Leviathan. They killed the mother of monsters. They're friends with the King of Hell.

They even say one of them fell in love with an angel.

There are so many stories about them that it's impossible to sift through them all for any sign of truth.

The only thing he knows for certain is that he _must_ find them.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** updates as always will come on tumblr first at jhoomwrites (i've noticed some formatting issues with my uploads here... those don't occur in tumblr)

i think i said three parts and then four... i'm just gonna go ahead and say i have no idea how long this will be. cas just isn't cooperating the way i thought he would ;)

* * *

Apparently the only thing no one seems to know is where they are. There are sightings of them, and half a dozen hunters may or may not know how to contact them. As to where they actually might live, absolutely nothing.

It occurs to Thomas that they don't want to be found.

He also doesn't care.

It's like gravity has shifted. He has fallen into the Winchesters' orbit and he's powerless to pull himself away.

Honestly, he's not sure if he wants to.

So he gives up hunting monsters and starts hunting the Winchesters instead.

* * *

The only thing he can think to do is go on the most dangerous cases he can find. That seems to be the only common thread between all the stories he's heard about them. Impossibly dangerous? The Winchesters show up, take care of it, then disappear again.

It's no wonder they've become legends.

He's always a few steps behind them, a few days or at best a few hours too late. When he looks for them at the motels - and it's odd he knows so well the type of motel they would choose to stay at - it's hard to find out anything.

He's never even seen the men in person, knows them only from second hand descriptions. Though he almost feels he could describe them in great detail. The words are always on the tip of his tongue, words going beyond their physical characteristics, perhaps even beyond their personalities. He almost feels like he could describe their _souls_ if given the chance.

Thomas considers summoning a demon, but a crossroads deal is out of the question and he's worried he wouldn't be able to handle anything else.

* * *

When his parents asks him about how his classes are going, he's non-commital. He makes decent grades, but they would expect more from him. More than a slapped together schedule that barely fits the graduation requirements for his program.

When they ask him about his friends in school, he exaggerates. While he has some aquaintances from classes and the dorms, they're not exactly what he would call "friends." And the hunters he works with - even if he's worked with them more than once and keeps in touch with them - they're almost more like business associates. Anyone who meets the criteria for "friend" has alluded him since he graduated high school.

When they ask him about his plans for the future, he outright lies. He hints that he wants to travel, to find himself before committing to a job. It doesn't sound like a lie, possibly because he _does_ want to travel. He _does_ want to find himself. But finding himself is tied in with finding the Winchesters, finding out what they mean to him and why. So yes, he sees it as a lie. His future isn't so much about himself as they are about them.

* * *

It's hard enough just to look for someone, but when you're trying to leave no trace it's even harder. Out of professional courtesy, he tries to be descreet. If they're as dangerous and well known as he's starting to suspect, there are much worse things than him who might try to find them.

And part of him is worried that _he_ might be found instead.

It keeps him up some nights, wondering what type of creature would want him. And what they'd do to him if they ever found him.

* * *

He graduates from college without the accolades his family had come to expect from him. They're polite enough not to bring it up and all happily attend his graduation. His aunts and uncles are all full of advice for the future. Job interviews and the like. He smiles politely and tries to hide his disinterest, deflecting their questions as best he can.

* * *

It takes him over a year to get anything substantial.

Once again he was too late to actually work the case - the strange string of deaths abruptly stopped the day before he arrived in town - but he worked the police and locals just in case. For once it pays off.

Apparently one of the Winchesters was here, based on the description the cops give. They have a fake name, obviously, and no clue where he's headed next. But what one of the detectives _does_ have is his first actual lead. It's simply a business card, the card of the supposed boss of the supposed investigator who had just left town.

As someone who makes fakes for a living, he can spot one pretty easily himself.

He chews his lip, spinning the card around in his hands. It takes him a good day to work up the courage to call.

It rings five times, maybe six. Enough that he's starting to wonder if this is another dead end. But just before he hangs up the line connects.

"Department of Agriculture, Regional Director Buchanan speaking."

There's something about the voice that he can't quite place. So like everything else, he doesn't try to anymore, but instead just files it away. "I'm looking for the Winchesters." He leaves it at that.

The silence on the other end of the phone is answer enough. It's a loaded silence, one full of hesitation, if he's not mistaken. Finally, there's a small, "Who is this?" It's not an angry sound, but genuinely curious.

Thomas doesn't know why, but there are so many adjectives he can now use to describe this voice and the man behind it. A picture is forming in his mind, one familiar and from dreams only half remembered. He shakes his head slightly, snapping himself back to the moment. This conversation is important.

Now it's his turn to hesitate. But if he wants to build any type of trust, he can't lie. "Thomas. My name's Thomas. I'm a hunter from outside-"

"What do you need, Thomas?" There's an edge of disappointment, but it's covered by patience.

What does he need? To find the Winchesters, but he suspects that answer isn't going to help him. _Why_ does he need to find them? That's... complicated. How can he explain the pull he feels? A pull that he's always felt, drawing him in a direction he couldn't name until a few years ago. Still can't _quite_ name or describe.

His inner turmoil is interrupted by the voice on the other end. "Do you need help with a hunt?"

"Yes." It's only a half truth. Which is better than no truth, he supposes.

There must be something about the earnestness in his voice, though, because the man on the other end sighs deeply. "Alright. Tell me about it."

* * *

Luckily he always has a list of possible cases - the _really_ dangerous ones he thinks will attract the Winchesters - organized by location. He picks one of the closer ones that he's pegged as a group of rugarus. They agree to meet the following night at a motel on the edge of town.

The air is thick with humidity from a storm earlier that day. He has his hands buried deep in his pockets. Not to keep them warm but to stop any nervous fidgeting. He tries to stand stoically under a street light in the back of the motel parking lot.

When a car pulls up nearby, he ignores it. It's not the car he's expecting - though _what_ car he _is_ expecting, he couldnt' begin to say. But then a man gets out of the car and starts heading toward him. As he gets closer, Thomas simultaneously feels elation and disappointment. Yes, this is a Winchester. No, this is the wrong one.

"You Thomas?" he asks as he steps into the light, hand extended.

"Yes." As he shakes the man's hand, hoping he adequately hides his disappointment, he gets a good look at this Winchester. The height, the hair, the eyes (he's sure his sister would refer to them as "puppy dog eyes") all correspond with what he had heard. But the warmth in his gaze and the firm but not suffocating handshake seem to pull at some distant memory.

"Sam," he offers with a slight smile. There is finally a name to him, then. Thomas isn't surprised by how well it fits. Of course his name is Sam. It's almost like he already knew that. But then the man frowns, looking down as he now gets a good look at him. "How old are you?"

Thomas bristles slightly at the question. And at his own annoyance that, despite his quite substantial height, this man has several inches on him. "Old enough." He may have asked for help on this hunt, but he doesn't want to be treated like a child.

The frown shifts into exasperation. "Dude, c'mon. How old are you?"

Thomas has never been good at lying about his age. "Twenty two," he mumbles, as if making the answer harder to hear will actually make him older.

A strange look passes through Sam's eyes before it disappears. He gives him another once over, this time with a little bit more care behind it. "Twenty two years," he repeats to himself. "Where'd you say you were from again?"

Annoyed at the sudden interest, he simply huffs out, "I don't see how that's relevant. I thought you were here to help me with a hunt, not hear my life story."

Sam raises his eyebrow, suggesting for a moment that he _did_ in fact come for the latter reason. "Alright," he says carefully. "Where do we start?"


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Just a reminder that this is also on AO3 (jhoom) and Tumblr (jhoomwrites). Updates on tumblr first (and with better formatting because I'm too lazy to fix it elsewhere).

* * *

There's a diner maybe two blocks over where they decide to grab dinner while discussing the case. He insists that Sam drives.

The waitress comes while Thomas is sifting through his notes - newspaper clippings and post-its and a poorly printed map - to take their orders. Sam orders a cobb salad. He orders a burger, medium rare.

He's too engrossed in removing what appears to be a jam stain from one of his notes that he fails to notice the strange look Sam gives him. Slowly and carefully, he lays out each paper one by one, explaining what he knows about the case. It isn't much, considering it was just a possible lead to the Winchesters. He hasn't taken the care he normally would if he thought that he himself would be cleaning up this mess.

Nevertheless, Sam seems impressed. He tries not to look too pleased with himself.

Their food comes before they can come up with a plan. They quickly shift everything to the side before the waitress can see. She still eyes the papers suspiciously as she drops off their meals, but doesn't say a word as she goes to get them refills.

Thomas is chewing thoughtfully on his fries, trying to form a game plan for not only this hunt but also his greater mission of finding the other Winchester. It takes him a moment to realize Sam is starring at him.

"What?"

Sam takes a moment to consider. "How long have you been hunting?"

Thomas squints at him in suspicion. Is he still trying to suggest that he's not old enough, not capable enough to be hunting? He fidgets self-consciously in his seat before answering, "Four and a half years."

"Your family hunters?"

"No..."

"How'd you get into it?"

"There was a haunting in my home town. I took care of it and have been hunting in some capacity since then."

"Four and a half years hunting by yourself... you must be pretty good at it."

"I suppose... I have help sometimes."

"Just sometimes? That's still, like, _really_ impressive."

Thomas shrugs, not sure what to say. It's a compliment, and he should flattered that a _Winchester_ is saying it. But it sounds like they're edging around whatever it is Sam is really trying to say.

"How'd you get my number?"

Perhaps he should have thought about a lie ahead of time. It would be awkward to say the real reason he has been searching for the Winchesters. It's much too soon after just meeting him. But half truths are something Thomas has become quite accustomed to.

"I'd heard about you. Got a business card from a detective, and I was pretty sure it was you. Or your brother..." He lets the last word hang heavy between them, hoping Sam will pick up from there.

He doesn't. Intentionally, if he has to guess.

The interrogation (and there's no other way Thomas can think of it) continues for the rest of their meal. For once in his life, he's stingy with his answers. He doesn't like how much this feels like a test, and he feels it's critical he not fail it.

Sam only relents when his phone rings. There's a smile on his face as he checks the screen. He pulls himself out of the booth, calling a belated, "This'll just be a sec," before disappearing outside.

Thomas doesn't plan to ask - he doesn't want to pry - but when Sam returns he has an apologetic smile. "Sorry 'bout that. It was my daughter."

At that, he frowns, head tilted to the side in confusion. Sam Winchester has a daughter. That's surprising. The first thing, actually, that has ever surprised him about the Winchesters. Everything else, even the most shocking rumors, seemed... not quite plausible or believable, just undeniably _true_.

And for some reason, though it sounds strange to him, it makes his head fuzzy with happiness to know that Sam has a daughter. Maybe a son or another daughter. A wife. A home. A dog or two.

The apple pie life. Whatever that means.

He notices Sam starring at him again. He coughs and starts talking about the case again, hoping they can let it drop.

Sam, mercifully, lets him change the subject.

* * *

Research moves a lot faster when there's two people working on it. Especially when one of them can pass for a fed. It takes a little more than half a day to narrow down their search to a patch of land a few miles from town.

They split up to cover more ground. Dangerous, yes, but Sam seems to trust he won't get himself killed. Or that the area's small enough he'll be able to get there in time should anything.

Turns out Sam's the one to find them first.

There are two of them, a pair, and it's gun shots that alert Thomas.

The transition to working solo to working with a partner or group is always difficult, especially the first time. Everyone has their own style, for lack of a better word. Sometimes they mesh well. Sometimes they definitely do not. He expects there to be some of this adjustment when he and Sam get started.

There is none.

It's the most seamlessly he's ever worked with _anyone_ , even hunters he's paired up with a number of times. They work in tandem without a second thought.

It ends quickly. Sam is an adequate distraction, able to fend them off while Thomas lights a torch. Once the fire's going, it's just a matter of cornering them and lighting them up.

Besides a few bruises when he tripped, Thomas is unhurt. Sam says he's fine, but limps slightly as they head back to the car. It's only then that he actually _notices_ that this other man is older. Obviously older than him but... older than he had been expecting. It's a strange realization to make.

* * *

The only room they had left was a double, so he offers the extra bed to Sam. Though he seems to want to refuse, he sighs and agrees after his leg goes stiff as he gets out of the car.

They don't talk much during the night. They share a six pack and talk about their families. It takes a beer and a half before Thomas starts to open up about his parents, sister and cousins. He tells stories and smiles fondly. He even reveals that he misses them, sometimes, but is glad they know nothing of his life hunting. Sam nods quietly throughout.

It turns out Sam has a wife and daughter. Just one dog, a black lab named Cody. They live in eastern Colorado, in a house with ten acres attached. He's a low profile lawyer most of the time, but he still hunts and tries to help out as the "new Bobby" whenever he can.

 _("The 'new Bobby'? I don't understand that reference."_

 _"Long story. Don't worry about it.")_

Neither mention his brother.

* * *

Morning comes and they part ways. They exchange numbers - _real_ numbers, not ones used to lie to cops and witnesses. It's meant so they can stay in contact. Thomas can't shake the feeling it's so Sam can keep tabs on him.

He pretends to go check out as Sam drives away. Just as his car is out of sight, he makes a beeline for his own.

He follows him.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** probably won't have an update for a bit (*coughcough*fallout 4*coughcough*

as always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites

* * *

Thomas keeps a reasonable distance and has his phone powered off. He doesn't think Sam suspects this, but the man is a hunter. It'll be hard to tail him long without tipping him off that he's being followed. Luckily, they head straight for the interstate and there's enough traffic for him to hide behind.

He's not even sure what he'll do when he gets wherever it is they're going. But that's something he can worry about later.

They drive for a few hours before Sam takes an exit in Kansas. Thomas has never been out this way - nothing even remotely supernatural seems to pop up within 100 miles of Kansas City, but that is undoubtedly where they're headed. Which shouldn't be surprising. Anywhere a Winchester lives is bound to be clear of ghouls, monsters and any other baddie that would be out for blood.

But didn't Sam say he lives in Colorado?

Sam surprises him again by driving right on through KC. Before he can really start to guess where they're going, he pulls off of I-70 into Lawrence. A few minutes later he finds himself in a small neighborhood filled with small single-family homes. There's not as many cars and he's just starting to worry he's becoming conspicuous when Sam pulls into a driveway.

To avoid any attention, he drives past before taking a few minutes to circle back. He parks about a block down behind a large pick-up. Although it partially obscures his view, it keeps his car almost completely hidden. It's a trade off he's willing to make.

The car is empty, which leaves Thomas nothing but the house to stare at. The yard is small but well maintained. The house is a faded brown that has seen better days, but instead of looking dilapidated it borders more on cozy. It's smaller than the house he grew up in, probably only two bedrooms instead of the four in his parents' house. It could reasonably fit Sam, his wife and his daughter.

His heart pounds in his chest at the thought, the hope that this isn't Sam's house.

He waits in his car nearly an hour. His back is starting to get stiff from sitting for so long and he's wondering what his plan is. How long should he wait? Should he maybe go in? But if Sam's family lives here, it would be such an imposition. One that would get him no closer to his ultimate goal of finding the other Winchester.

Before he can reach a decision, the front door opens. He's too far away to see clearly, but the man in the doorway is too tall to be anyone other than Sam. He's speaking with someone in the house. Thomas can see very little and obviously hears nothing of the conversation. But Sam's body language is relaxed, more at ease with this person than he was the entire time they worked their case together.

The exchange at the door is brief. Sam turns to head to his car, waving slightly. He wastes no time heading out back towards the highway. When he's finally out of sight, Thomas lets out a shaky breath.

Now what?

* * *

It takes a few moments of deliberation before he decides to go up to the house. He doesn't know who lives here, but at this point he feels he has nothing to lose. Sam has left, it would be too late to follow him at this point.

All he hears as he walks up to the house is blood pounding in his ears. His palms are starting to clam up as he finally reaches the door. He doesn't know how he expects this to go. Honestly, he doesn't even have a plan beyond introducing himself. But he's already knocked, eagerness outweighing apprehension, so it's too late anyway.

It takes a moment before he hears footsteps approaching. There's no pause, no one checking to see who's at the door. It opens suddenly and without hesitation.

"What'd, you decide to stay for dinner after all?"

Thomas is stunned for a moment by the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen - even though he feels like he _has_ seen them before. Green, all he sees is green. He's lost, completely and utterly lost in them. It's a good thing he didn't bother planning out what he'd say, because it would have disappeared in those green depths.

Before he can gather himself and start his most likely very awkward introduction, the man before him speaks.

" _Cas_." It's the most broken sound he's ever heard someone make. It's as though it's been ripped from the man's chest against his will. Just one word, one syllable, but it's earth shattering nonetheless.

And then he's in the most suffocating hug he could imagine, wind nearly knocked out of him. There are fingers twisting into his hair, a cheek pressed against his own, and he can hear shaky, gasping breathes in his ear. It takes a moment for his arms to reciprocate, but when he does he shivers slightly at the _warmth_ he feels.

He could stay like this forever.

When they finally pull away - and he has no idea how long it takes for them to do so - those green eyes meet him again. They're still within arm's reach of each other (he knows this because the man's hand lingers on his shoulder a moment, gives a final squeeze before pulling away). It's far too close but not close enough. He smiles despite himself. Looking into those eyes is like coming home.

It's a feeling he realizes now that he hasn't experienced his entire life.

"Cas." The man's voice breaks slightly, so he tries again. "Cas, is that really you?"

He can feel his smile falter. He desperately wants to say yes. To be whatever, whoever this man wants him to be. But he can't.

The answer must be easy to read, because the man's expression falls briefly into despair before he manages to smooth it into indifference. Thomas hates seeing that look, hates knowing he caused it.

Hates feeling like it's just another in a long line of disappointments he's caused this man.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, it's... it's fine." The man takes a step back. He blinks several times, the only clue that tears are trying to form in his eyes.

He desperately wants to reach out and _fix_ whatever it is he's just broken. But right now it doesn't seem like it's his place, not quite. Instead, through the pain, through the struggle it is not to step forward and hold him, he swallows and asks, "What's your name?"

There's a slight, almost hysterical laugh. " _Jesus_ , you show up at my door and you don't even know my name?" He won't look Thomas in the eyes anymore.

"Please," he whispers. He wants to know this much at least. If he gets sent away, he needs to at least have a name for the piece of himself that's missing.

They stare at each other for a moment. Or rather, Thomas stares whereas the older man stares at a spot somewhere below his chin and shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

"Dean. It's Dean."

The smile that lights up Thomas' face is breathtaking, stunning Dean slightly. It's not just the upward curve of his mouth, but the pure and utter delight in his eyes. "Dean." God does it feel good to know his _name_ , the name of the man who has been in his dreams since the moment he was born. "Dean," he repeats fondly. He could say it a million more times and never be tired of it.

"Who are you?" He had expected an accusation, but he seems genuinely curious.

 _ **Dean** seems curious, _his heart chirps happily. _Dean, I've found **Dean**._

His smile finally falters as he comes back to reality. That's a good question. One that used to have a simple answer, though now he's not so sure. For lack of a better answer, he gives the only one he has. "Thomas." He weakly adds, "I'm a hunter."

It doesn't taste right in his mouth. Not anymore.

They continue to stare at each other. Dean clearly has no idea to do with this information, or really, with this whole situation. His eyes keep darting up to make eye contact then back down at his feet or up at the ceiling or really just anywhere _but_ Thomas' face.

"You, uh... you wanna come in?" One hand rubs nervously at the back of his neck, the other makes a jerky motion indicating the living room behind him.

"Yes." He licks his lips. "Yes."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** delayed update because of fallout 4 (which i have not actually gotten to play very much...), work, being sick, writing for the destiel ficlet challenge, and having a 3 month old son to look after... but i finally got a chance to write and should be able to do so again within a week (ish) :)

As always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites

* * *

Dean makes a beeline for an armchair next to a small wood-burning fireplace. He slumps down and leans forward, arms leaning heavily against his thighs. His eyes, fixed on the floor a few feet in front of him, seem unfocused. Somehow Thomas can easily recognize this as him shutting down. It takes a little out of him to know how difficult he's made this for the other man, but he's too excited about this meeting to feel sorry about it.

Thomas, after a moment of shifting back and forth on his feet in the entryway, decides to take a seat on the worn sofa. All he wants to do is stare, to memorize the lines of Dean's face and fill in the vague dreams that have always tickled the back of his mind. To count the numerous freckles that, though faded with age, pepper his skin. To reach out his hand and run his fingers through that hair, to card through it and take note of the blond and brown and gray mixed in to make a color that's uniquely _Dean_.

Instead, he bites his lip and tries to will Dean to look him in the eyes.

When he finally speaks, his voice is strained. "You were looking for me?"

"Yes." He says it slowly to buy a few more seconds to think over his answer, all the things he wants to say. "I-" his face scrunches up as he wonders where to start. "I've been looking for you since I first heard of the Winchesters."

 _And some time before that, I just didn't know what I was looking for_.

There's silence for a while. It's too tense, too littered with possibilities for Thomas to dare break it. Dean eventually does.

"Why?" His voice is rough, broken almost.

"That's... complicated." How could he possibly describe it? Unpack the plethora of confusion and longing that's been drawing him to this moment, to this man?

Dean laughs humorlessly. "Of course it is," he mutters as he wearily rubs his face.

He tries to form sort sort of coherent explanation before the silence can stretch into anything too opressive. It's difficult to put into words when all it's been is a feeling that he's never quite been able to pin down. How would a falling star describe the gravity pulling it in?

"You sure you're not Cas?" he asks, hands now pressing into his eyes as if to fight off a headache. "Because this conversation would be a lot fucking easier if you were."

"I..." He doesn't know why he hesitates. He has no reason to. He's Thomas. Obviously. Right? But what comes out is a weak, "I don't know."

He looks up at that. Confusion, hurt, desperation and a dash of hope shine out through those beautiful green eyes.

Instead of trying to explain things he doesn't know, he decides to start with what he does know. "I'm Thomas. I'm a hunter. I grew up in Iowa, just outside of Cedar Rapids. I'm twenty two. I went to school at-"

"Whoa whoa, back that up."

His jaw snaps shut in surprise. Did he say something wrong? Dean is almost glaring at him with an intensity he's not sure he deserves.

"When's your birthday?"

Thomas stares at him for a beat or two before answering. "February 23rd." He doesn't see the relevance, but Dean's eyes narrow.

"So let me get this straight. You were born in goddamn _Iowa,_ _twenty two years ago_ in fucking _February_?" He punctuates each point by counting them off on his fingers, three accusations thrown against him.

"Yes?" He squints in confusion. He'd picked the most innocuous parts of his past to share, to just give some background as to who he is, yet it's seemed to do nothing more than rile Dean up. "Why is that important?"

"I don't fucking know, man. Maybe because you were born in the same fucking state I last saw Cas. You were born about nine months after he just fucking disappeared on me. You've got the same goddamned eyes and you do that weird fucking squinty-eyed head-tilty thing he always did." He waves a hand in his direction to emphasize the last point. "You bring a fucking trench coat and blue tie with you, too?"

Dean's tired resignation from before has twisted itself into a nervous energy. At this point gets up and starts pacing, completely ignoring (or unaware) of the utter shock on Thomas' face. "I'm sorry." And he really is. "I don't understand."

That stops the pacing and draws Dean's gaze back on him. He's stopped right in front of him. Thomas can't read the look in his eyes, but notices the way his fingers twitch like there's something they're dying to reach out and touch.

It's a feeling he can relate to.

"I think we've got some things to figure out, Thomas."

* * *

The rest of the conversation turns out to be exhausting to them both. Dean heats up some leftover pizza and grabs them a couple beers (then a couple more and a few more after that because this is apparently a discussion neither of them wants to have while sober).

Thomas goes first. He lets it all out, _finally_. For the first time in his entire life, he tells someone else about how there were always so many things in his life just seemed _off_. How he'd always wondered why that was. If the pieces that made up his world didn't fit together, what would it look like if he had the right ones?

As he watches Dean lick his lips after taking a long drink from his beer, he has to refrain from mentioning how many times he's lost himself staring into green eyes but knowing they weren't the right ones.

But he does explain how his entire adult life, or what little of it there's been so far, has been spent just trying to find answers to these questions. In a rush he tries to make Dean see that this isn't just some quest to "find himself" like so many others his age. It is, but it isn't. He knows who Thomas is. He's just trying to find out if there's someone else _underneath_.

Dean doesn't say much as he listens. A small smile will occasionally appear when there's a funny story from college or a hunt. His brow furrows in concern at the mention of broken bones and sprains and concussions all long since healed. Once or twice a pained grimace, though Thomas has no idea what the cause of those is. But mostly he just takes it in, carefully peeling the labels off his empty beer bottles in an attempt to avoid unnecessary eye contact.

And then they trade and Dean talks. Tells him the story of an Angel of the Lord who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. He finally hears the stories he'd only known about as rumors, but now in graphic detail. It's not awe-filled voices of hunters doing a little hero worship. No, it's Dean Winchester himself unloading all of his own personal baggage to a complete stranger. The real difference, he notices, is the mention of Castiel over and over again.

He tries not to be too jealous at the fondness in Dean's voice.

It ends, more or less, with Castiel's disappearance. He went to Heaven to try and buy the Winchesters more time. Dean hadn't wanted him to go, insistent they could manage things on their own. But he had gone anyway. Never to come back.

There's something about the way he says this last part while staring straight into Thomas' eyes. After taking such care to look everywhere else, it finally hits him like a ton of bricks. "You think I'm Castiel?"

Not looking away for a second, he just asks, "Are you?"

He had thought it would sound crazy once he had given voice to Dean's suspicions. Now, though, when it's finally out there as a possibility... If he really allows himself to entertain the idea... If he takes the picture he's been painted of the angel's life and death, compares it to the missing holes in his own life...

 _Am I not who I think I am?_

A firm hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his mini-existential crisis.

"You don't have to answer that." Dean's voice is soothing. "I shouldn't have asked. We can figure all this out, there's no rush or anything."

He swallows and nods, wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans. There's so much to take in, so much that's been shared, that he knows it will take him hours of reflection to come to even a basic understanding of what's happened. But right now he's drained. He almost feels hollowed out, and the prospect of trying to commit any more energy to any of this almost makes him want to cry.

His distress must be evident. There's a last gentle squeeze before Dean lets go and stands up. "C'mon, lemme show you the guest room."

* * *

He lies awake in bed, mind buzzing with millions of thoughts and questions, skin tingling and alive with need. He hears shuffling in the room next door for a while, but eventually that settles. It's not until a few moments later, when the house has gone completely quiet and Thomas has almost drifted off to sleep that he feels it.

The longing he has felt throughout his life - the one that has been pulling him since he can remember - it rips through him like a bullet, like a freight train. He gasps out in near pain, completely overwhelmed.

Through gritted teeth he tries to just focus on breathing. He's pinned to the bed, unable to move except for the slight tremor shaking his limbs that he can't quite stop. It takes a half hour, maybe a full hour before the pain subsides. Or rather, it becomes less sharp and something more bearable and not quite formed.

Presumably, Dean has fallen asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** short update because it was a good breaking point and i have to ponder this next part of the story a bit before i can write much more

As always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites

* * *

It should come as no surprise that he sleeps terribly. When unconsciousness finally took him under, Thomas had been relieved. But then half-formed dreams plagued him all night, leaving him tossing and turning in an effort to escape them. He wakes up at least a half dozen times within the few hours his body is willing to stay put.

He finally gives up on getting any more sleep around seven. He's groggy and irritable and it takes him a minute to even remember where he is before he digs a sweatshirt out of his duffle bag and wanders downstairs. The smell of coffee and syrup greet him, his stomach doing eager flips in anticipation.

But the low rumble of an agitated (though now familiar) voice slows him down before reaching the kitchen. He's only about six paces away when he finally starts to make out the words.

"-I'm just asking a hypothetical question, here."

A sigh. "Honestly? Yeah, I've thought about it. _A lot_. Didn't mean I thought it was even _possible..."_

A pause, his voice questioning. "Yes...? Yesterday...? Yeah, after you left...?"

A loud outburst before Dean is able to calm down and lower his voice. "You mean you fucking _knew_? You let me walk into this shit blind and you fucking _knew_ -"

He's pacing now, quick, measured strides from one end of the kitchen to another. It's easy to picture him running a hand through his hair. "Well thanks for the heads up, Sammy. Real fucking helpful."

Only a short pause. "Well I guess he's a better hunter than you give him credit for. Either that or you're getting _worse_ in your old age-"

The pacing stops abruptly. "I am _not_!" Barely even time for someone to have replied before an annoyed "Jerk" with surprisingly little malice behind it.

A much longer break. "No. No no no, I got this. You stay out of it for now. You just got back home, give 'em a hug and a kiss from me and just stay put. I'll call if I need anything."

Thomas thinks that'll be the end of it, but then he barely hears Dean whisper, "Do you think it could be him?"

He can't tell from Dean's reaction what the answer was. There's a short farewell followed by a deep sigh. He holds his breath until he can hear Dean puttering around the kitchen again. He waits another full three minutes after that before rounding the corner.

Dean looks up and gives him a once over from where he stands at the counter flipping pancakes. He tries not to blush at the attention. Instead, he walks past the older man to the coffee pot and pours himself a generous mug full. There's a couple of stools next to the small island and Dean gestures towards them. He tries not to be offended by the lack of eye contact.

While Dean finishes cooking, Thomas takes a seat and just breathes in the warm steam from his coffee.

"You uh..." he coughs and tries again as he puts starts plating the pancakes. "You need milk or sugar or anything?"

"I prefer it black." He takes a sip, then hesitantly adds, "Unless you have any honey."

Dean just stares at him for a moment before licking his lips. "Honey?"

"If you don't have any, it's fine-"

"No, I uh... I've got some." As he goes to the pantry and mutters something under his breath. "Hope this is alright."

He sets both the honey and a plate in front of him along with the syrup. Thomas nods in thanks and starts eating. It's been a long time time, months at least, since he's had a home cooked meal, and even something as simple as pancakes tastes divine.

Instead of sitting next to him, Dean chooses to pull the remaing stool off to the side. They're angled towards each other, but not arm to arm as they would have been. It's a relief because it gives him some breathing room, and he desperately needs the space right now just to keep his sanity. It also affords him a way to stare at Dean openly without making it too obvious.

They eat in silence. Dean stares determinedly at his food and stabs each piece with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. Thomas, for his part, spends most of his time soaking each bite in syrup and watching the other man try so hard to ignore his presence. The stiff line of Dean's back is so rigid, he's concerned he'll cramp up.

Out of no where, as the last bites start to disappear, Dean is the one to finally speak up. "So... honey?"

Thomas perks up slightly. "I try not to eat a lot of processed sugar, and honey is a great alternative when you can get it. Not exactly common fare at the places I end up eating."

A breathy little laugh, and a small, "Right." But then he looks up, finally actually _looks_ at him, and Thomas smiles warmly. The seconds just tick by, but whatever spell they're under keeps them rooted to their seats, just staring.

It's an oddly familiar feeling.

As usual, Dean ends the moment by coughing and turning away.

* * *

They're both playing this by ear. They talk about a lot of things, but by some unspoken agreement carefully avoid discussing a game plan. Conversation instead centers on Thomas. His likes, his dislikes, his opinions on hunting. He tries to pull the same information from Dean, but he's remarkably good at re-directing.

It gets on his nerves the way Dean always just deflects with some self-deprecating statement.

"I'm really not that interesting."

"But no one wants to hear about me."

"Doesn't matter what I think."

 _You_ **are** _interesting,_ **I** _want to hear, you_ **do** _matter,_ he wants to scream. Judging by how delicate their relationship seems to be at the moment, he manages to refrain from doing more than grating his teeth.

After another cup of coffee and an hour of talking, he notices that they have also avoided talking about his family. Perhaps "avoiding" is too strong a word. They circle around the topic, but neither brings it up. Whether it's because of Dean's lack of interest or he just genuinely doesn't think about it, Thomas makes note of it.

Another topic that won't come up is Castiel. The missing, and presumed dead, ex-angel is clearly on the forefront of their minds. Thomas is curious but doesn't have the heart to bring it up. He remembers all too well the pained look as Dean had talked about him last night.

Steadily the talking dies down and settles into that familiar, almost comfortable starring match they had started earlier. There's so much more to say, so much still left unsaid. Now just doesn't seem like the right time to go into it.

But there _is_ something that he needs to bring up. Pretending they're on the same page without actually spelling it out is a dangerous idea. So slowly he takes a sip of his coffee (now cold) and takes a deep breath before just putting it out there.

A quiet whisper, because he's genuinely scared of hearing the answer. "Do you really think I could be Castiel?"

Dean grimaces. "I don't know, man." He rubs his knees nervously. "Maybe."

Thomas nods because honestly, what else can he do? "So... what are we going to do? About me?"

He steels himself for his heart to be broken. Obviously, it'd be easier to just send him away. Wihtout a clear understanding of why, he knows he wants to stay. But this is so obviously hard for Dean, and he couldn't possibly ask or expect him to continue with... whatever this is. Making a clean break now would probably be the best for both of them. Thomas has found out as much as Dean can really tell him, his little quest to find the Winchesters is at an end.

 _But it wasn't just about finding them,_ he reminds himself. _It was about finding **you-**_

He quickly puts an end to that train of thought before it can devastate him.

"I think," Dean starts, drawing out each words as if he's still making the decision. 'I think, maybe you should stay." Now it comes out in a rush and the slightest traces of a blush blooms on his cheeks. "If you want, I mean. For just a little while. So we can figure things out. Know for sure. It's okay if-"

"Yes."

Dean seems to relax a little. He licks his lips. "Okay then." There's no smile, but the edges of his lips perk up ever so slightly.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** there'll probably be one? maybe two more updates before the holidays, when i won't really have any spare time to write. i'm pretty settled into this weekly updating though, so once the new year starts i'll probably fall back into it (unless another project distracts me).

also fair warning that the rating will have to go up in the next update or two.

as always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites

* * *

Thomas more or less moves in. Not that it takes a lot of time - he has maybe two duffle bags worth of possessions, not counting the weapons and books he keeps in the trunk of his car. Even so, the guest room makes him feel more at home than he can remember feeling in years.

When he first drives his car into the driveway, he can see Dean making a face. It turns out there's something wrong with the muffler, which later reveals a problem with the spark plugs. Then it's an oil change and air filters, a tire rotation and a good polish. Dean expertly walks Thomas through the repairs and maintenance. Often they fall into a companionable silence once they each know their part.

Once they're done with Thomas' car, Dean lets him help with his.

The Impala is as beautiful as he had imagined, which is something considering he shouldn't have been able to imagine it all. But once he sees it, he knows he knows it. Just like Dean's called to him all his life, this car _means_ something. And he's extremely pleased to know Dean trusts him enough to work on it with him.

Dean actually works as a mechanic, as it turns out. There's a shop a few miles down the highway where he works a few days a week. Thomas visits a couple times to observe, but ends up spending a lot of time in town while Dean works. He's lived on his own since college and doesn't mind it now. But he does find it strange how few hours Dean seems to work.

When Thomas mentions this, Dean mutters something about pool and poker.

They watch tv and movies together. He always lets Dean lead when it comes to picking what to watch and has yet to be disappointed. No, the disappointment seems to be all Dean's. It's not expressly stated, but each time he picks something, he carefully watches Thomas' face to guage his reaction. If Thomas has never seen it before, his eyes light up briefly. If he has seen it before, well- there's nothing really obvious to give away his annoyance, but it's there all the same.

And then there's the cooking. Thomas lights up in excitement when he learns Dean likes to cook. None of his meals are particularly extravagent and not much more exotic than you'd find at a typical diner or american restaurant. Yet everything tastes great. They take turns cooking for each other.

Dean grins for a whole two days after Thomas bakes him a particularly good apple pie.

There's no talk of hunting, not for nearly three weeks. It's on the back of their minds (or Thomas', at least) the whole time. There's an itch to be out there, working some new case, that he won't be able to ignore much longer. He's just not sure how to bring it up because he's worried, frankly, that Dean will misunderstand why he misses it. So for now he says nothing and just keeps an eye out for a nearby case.

It puts him ill at ease to think about how much he likes the little domestic life they've fallen into. Not because it doesn't suit him. No. It's because he has this feeling, this worry in the pit of his stomach, that every time he's gotten something like this it's been snatched away from him.

* * *

Days are easy, nights are hard.

The longing he felt from Dean when he'd first arrived has decreased to managable levels. Some nights it's not even really there. The sharpness and urgency has long since given way to a mild undercurrent always there, but never demanding.

No, that's not what keeps him up until the dead of night. The problem is when he's alone in his room without even the distraction of crickets or cars driving past outside, he actually has time to _think_.

Sometimes, he lets himself think he might be Cas. It would make things easier, explain so much. He knows Dean too well for anything else to make sense. And it would end Dean's misery of not knowing what happened to his best friend. Yes, it would certainly be the easy answer.

But something about admitting he's someone else... it _terrifies_ him. He doesn't want to give up being Thomas. He _is_ Thomas. He doesn't want to lose that in the wake of Castiel.

Thomas might be small and young and boring and human, but it's all he has.

* * *

The days blur together such that September 18th would have come and passed without Thomas even knowing. At least, it would have if he were still out on the road.

Dean's moody all day and won't really talk to him. He doesn't push, though there's a slight fear that the end is coming. He's going to be kicked out because he's not Cas. But he doesn't say anything. Just keeps moving about with a nervous energy, fidgeting and scratching his left shoulder over and over.

At around five Dean mutters some thing about going out for a drink and disappears. Normally Thomas might have been a little miffed by not being invited along, but after a day of dealing with Dean's strange behavior, he's actually a little relieved. He enjoys a quiet evening reading and then yells at a reality tv show before going to bed early.

* * *

He's not sure what wakes him up.

He's disoriented, his breathing labored and mind whirling in confusion. It takes him a moment to realize he's fallen out of his bed with his legs tangled in his sheets. The pain in his chest he realizes is that strange longing that ebbed in recent weeks, now razor sharp. He keeps gasping and makes an effort to even out his breathing when he hears a crash from the other room.

Maybe he would've been more cautious had he been more awake, but he's immediately up and rushing into Dean's room. He doesn't even bring a weapon with him. The door's slightly ajar and easily gives way.

Dean's a mess. He's twisted in his sheets, face contorted in pain. Occasionally a grunt or a whisper, but mostly it's just his breathing, heavy and ragged, that fills the empty air. The broken glass on the floor by the bed and the alarm clock hanging precariously by its cord suggest that he's been thrashing out.

His head is ringing from the longing in his chest, but Thomas manages to force his focus on Dean. He makes his way to the bed, putting one knee on the edge and wondering how best to wake him up from whatever nightmare he's fighting. Slowly, he reaches down to gently shake Dean's left shoulder.

Even through the sleeve of his t-shirt, his skin feels like it's on fire, like an electric current is passing through him. Dean jolts away at the contact with a strangled scream but doesn't otherwise react.

Thomas wavers for a moment in dread before placing his hand on Dean's waist. The skin's not as hot here, not at all, and though it puzzles him slightly, he takes advantage of it by firmly shaking Dean.

"Dean," he half-whispers. "You're having a nightmare. Wake up."

No response.

He tries a few more times with no better luck.

Sighing in frustration, he's about to shake him harder when he catches sight of what's on the nightstand. An empty beer bottle and a container of ambien.

Great. The liklihood of waking Dean up appearing to be minimal, he decides to switch tactics. If he can't wake up him, the best he can do is try to comfort him. How can he do that?

Memories of nightmares and thunder storms chasing him into his parents' room late at night give him an idea. Slowly, he shifts so that he's sitting on the bed behind Dean and begins rubbing soothing circles on his back. It takes a while before he seems to give in and relax. His breathing evens out and the thrashing stops. Even the ache in his chest seems to lessen.

The couple times Thomas stops in the hopes of going back to his room, he's met almost immediately with a groan and a jerky attempt to follow his retreating hand.

Eventually, he ends up falling asleep.

* * *

His own dreams aren't much better. They're a mess, pictures and faces that are impossible to make out. Each image blurs together with the next. A line of never ending memories and words he swears he's heard before.

 _I'm not leaving here without you._

 _I'd rather have you, cursed or not._

 _I prayed to you, Cas. Every night._

 _We're family. We need you. I need you._

 _Don't ever change._

 _Don't **ever** change..._

* * *

He wakes up in a cold sweat, completely unrested. He can't quite seem to place where he is (and there's a terrifying moment when he's not completely sure _who_ he is). Gradually, the steady breathing of a man curled up next to him eases him awake.

With Dean's arm drapped around him and his face curled into his neck, it's hard to want to move. But with a sigh, he decides to save Dean his dignity and sneaks out of his grasp.

Dean immediately moves into the abandoned warmth, which makes him smile slightly, but doesn't otherwise seem to notice.

Thomas tiptoes out of the room, completely willing to forget this ever happened.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN:** was anticipating getting this portion done sooner, but a little delayed. i don't get to write as much if i'm not at work (strangely enough), so it's unlikely you'll see an update until january :/

another warning that the rating will have to go up in the next update or two.

as always, also on ao3 as jhoom and tumblr as jhoomwrites

* * *

He expects Dean's foul mood to carry over to the next day. It doesn't. For once, he seems well-rested. Groggy, but not sleep deprived. Thomas tries not to think too much about it.

Except that he can't. The dreams he had that night keep coming back, but each time with just a little more detail, the edges a little sharper and everything more in focus. And he wants to ask Dean about them. Ask what the words and places and _feelings_ mean.

He doesn't. Because there are only two real possibilities, aren't there? That they're just dreams. Dreams replaying over and over again and just growing with each retelling as his mind fixates on them. Strange, sure, but this answer is at least safe.

But... what if they're not dreams? He stops himself before continuing down that line of questioning.

* * *

It's a cool Thursday morning. He'd left the window open and the air is weighed down by the dampness of an impending storm. Too grumpy to actually get up and close it, he grabs his phone and burrows deeper into his blankets. He spends the next hour or so listening to music and catching up on emails. There's an annoyed one from his sister complaining about him missing her birthday. He apologizes and promises to visit soon and make it up to her.

When he's done, he figures he should actually start the day. Hopefully Dean's made breakfast. Pop tarts might be a good back up, but he's really hoping for something a bit more substantial.

As his earbuds get pulled out and he finally throws off the giant down comforter, he realizes there are voices - yes, _plural_ \- drifting up from the living room. There's a small part of him that hopes maybe Sam has come to visit, but the second voice is much too feminine.

He pulls on a sweater and manages to find his slippers underneath his bed before leisurely making his way downstairs. Just in case it's a private conversation, he tries to make his footfalls a little heavier than usual. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he's greeted by the total shock of a tall, auburn haired woman. Dean sheepishly puts his hands in his pockets, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

The two appraise each other. He's all bed head and pj bottoms, clearly a mess. The woman is definitely older than him, but not quite so old as Dean. The military jacket she's wearing is too loose to show much definition, yet there's just a hint of muscle underneath. Her clothes are worn and faded, boots caked with dry mud. The slight bulge at her calf suggests a knife concealed there. So, a hunter.

"Who's this?" she asks, jerking her shoulder towards Thomas before turning away from him. It's a surprising way to dismiss him, both by asking Dean instead of him and by turning her back as though he weren't a threat. He's briefly insulted.

"He's my uh..." There's a moment where he visibly struggles to find the right word. He looks to Thomas for some help, eyes slightly desperate, but all he gets is an amused smirk. "He's my roommate."

The woman looks between the two men, eyebrows raised. "That what the kids are calling it these days?"

Thomas almost snorts at that. He decides to leave the impending awkwardness and Dean mercifully lets him go into the kitchen without protest.

As he pours himself some cereal (damn, out of pop tarts), he's torn between curiosity and his pride. He so wants to know what they're talking about. He so does not to give this woman more of his energy or attention than he needs to.

It doesn't matter much, either way. He hears the front door slam shut, followed by a flustered looking Dean.

"Friend of yours?" His tone is conversational. Sure, he wants to know, but he also wants to make it clear to Dean that it's up to him how much he shares.

"You could say that."

He's prepared to leave it at that, but after Dean grabs a cup of coffee and sits across from him, he sighs before continuing. "Aubrey's an old friend. Dated a few years back. Actually... a lotta years back now that I think about it. She's a hunter from New York. She's driving back home from a case out in New Mexico when she heard about another one back out in Arizona. She doesn't wanna make the trip back, so she figured she'd hit me up to take care of it."

Thomas just nods around a mouthful of cheerios. He's been hoping a case would come up. "Anything interesting?"

"Probably a lower end demon, nothing too special."

"Mmmhmm," he says around a spoonful of cheerios. He's still not used to Dean so casually referring to demons as though they were below his pay grade. "So when do we head out?"

"... We?" Before Thomas can even finish forming a glare, Dean back tracks a little. "I just wasn't sure you'd... you know, want to come along."

" _Dean_." He's not sure what his tone conveys - exasperation at Dean even _considering_ leaving him behind, hurt that he might leave without him, annoyance at the mere _thought_ of being cooped up another week while missing out on a hunt, or the excitement of hunting an actual, honest-to-god demon with _Dean Winchester._ Whatever it is, it does the trick.

Dean seems to consider for a moment. "You got an anti-possession tattoo, right?"

"Of course, Dean. I'm not an amateur."

He almost misses Dean's breathy little laugh. "Alright, let's pack up and head out in an hour."

* * *

Thomas doesn't even know what to pack. He's never really hunted a demon before, so he's clueless about which weapons and books would best help. In the end, it doesn't matter. Dean apparently never considered taking Thomas' car, and they both know full well that the Impala is more than amply stocked for the situation.

If had just been Thomas, he probably would've driven all night. Hell, he suspects Dean's done the same numerous times in the past. They stop briefly around noon to pick up lunch. Thomas offers to drive, but Dean refuses. Eventually, though, Dean gets antsy enough that he wants a longer break and some real food.

They get a room in a motel and barely stay long enough to drop off their bags before heading to a bar down the street.

It's reasonably crowded. Just enough that no one really stands out but not so much that they aren't able to get a table in the back. There are no servers working so Thomas heads to the bar to order. The menu's not extensive, not that he was expecting it to be, so he decides on nachos and burgers (he's momentarily tempted by the crab cakes until he remembers what state he's in). Beer choices are pretty much just macro brews on draft.

The bartender seems to sense his frustration and digs out a list of bottles. "You lookin' for something in particular?" she asks with a bit of a drawl.

"Not really," though he sighs because there isn't much to pick from, anyway.

Another patron at the end of the bar catches her attention. She gives him a wink and a quick "Take your time," before disappearing.

He reads over the list three or four times without really taking any of it in. They all sound the same and he's worried they'll just be old and skunked - the menu gets so little use there's a thin layer of dust on it. Before he can make up his mind, a firm body appears to his right, much too close and familiar to be an accident.

Blond hair and three day old stubble, blue eyes that border on grey, and chiseled cheekbones greet him when he turns. He can't help but give the man a quick once over and concedes a mental, "Not bad."

"Need help picking what's good?" The voice isn't quite as deep as his, smooth and just a hint of a flirty edge to it.

His first impulse is to flirt back, but he's immediately hit with how _not_ interested he is. Which is... new, honestly. Sure, the guy's not his ideal type, but he _is_ attractive and it's been a while. Yet there's nothing, not even the smallest pull.

Thomas still smiles sweetly and feigns ignorance about the beer choices. He wants a local's opinion, and once he gets it he allows for a little more chit chat while he waits for the bartender. When the beers are dropped off, he deflects the man's attempts to get his number and instead heads back to his table. He doesn't seem upset, though, just shrugs and moves onto his next prospect.

When he gets back, he can't help but notice the grimace on Dean's face. He shrugs it off, not sure what brought it on anyway, and hands over a beer while taking a long swig of his own. Just like the man at the bar - not bad, but not really his taste.

"That, uh..." Dean coughs slightly, clearly uncomfortable. "That happen a lot?"

"Huh?"

Dean jerks his head to the bar where the tall blond is still sitting, this time smiling coyly at a young looking ginger who's just walked in.

He assumes Dean is teasing him, so answers with a playful tone of mock offense. "What? Don't think I'm pretty enough to get hit on?"

Dean flushes slightly. "Uh, no. I meant more... the guy part of it."

Thomas frowns. Not sure what the real issue is, he's not sure how to address Dean's concerns. Instead, all he can offer is an honest, "Sometimes."

"You uh... flirt back?" The failed attempt at nonchalance surprises him more than the line of questioning.

"Sometimes," he admits. "If they're cute."

Their food is dropped off around the awkward silence starting to take root. Dean's relief at the distraction is palpable as he digs into the nachos with an enthusiasm he normally reserves for a freshly baked pie. All Thomas does is stare, trying to decipher the real issue.

It must go on longer than he realizes because finally Dean huffs out, "Would you blink or something? You're weirding me out."

He does just that, then takes another swig of his beer. "Sorry," he mutters before digging in. The heaviness dissipates as suddenly as it had appeared. Their usual banter takes over, a mix of talk about their new case and an argument over who will win the Superbowl this year (even if neither man is really invested in the outcome).

Yet when Thomas tries to fall asleep to Dean's even breathing a few feet over, something about that evening nags at him. With a heavy sigh, he puts it to the back of his mind to sort out later.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN:** i really meant to write this a while ago, but i forgot just how friggin busy the first few weeks of january are at work. plus i was distracted doing a couple oneshots that i kinda got absorbed in... hopefully, though, i'll be back to weekly updates.

another warning that i will be upping the rating at some point in the future - there's some stuff i gotta set up before anything *ahem* happens

as always, feel free to hit me up on tumblr jhoomwrites (just my writing) or jhoomreads (all my random fandom stuff)

* * *

Thomas is relieved when they start working the hunt. It offers the distraction he's been needing these past few weeks, something that's completely outside of himself and his current issues. People need help, need _him_ \- whoever he actually is - and it's something he can _do_ something about.

On the last leg of the drive, Thomas goes over the case notes and starts doing phone interviews. He's always been good at listening and seeming disarming, probably because his interest and concern are always genuine. While Dean drives, he manages to whittle away at the mystery until it's all but solved.

He hopes Dean is at least a little impressed.

In town, there's not much left to do. There are a few people left to interview, just to confirm what they've already found out. They end up playing the role of FBI agent and intern. He bristles a little at having to play the intern, but it works so he lets it go. As easily as he slipped into working with Sam, that seems to carry over with Dean as well.

The only exception to that comes at the end of the hunt. They're sneaking into a house, were presumably the demon is holed up and at least suspects their arrival. Dean seems to want Thomas to stay in the car, but at least doesn't voice the thought. But he does, however, insist on entering the house first. And then he pushes Thomas back, going around each corner and into each room first. Splitting up doesn't even seem to cross his mind.

In his frustration, Thomas nearly hands over his gun and asks if he should turn the safety on.

Turns out it wouldn't have mattered - the gun almost immediately is forced from his hands as he's thrown clear across the room. He's dizzy and might have a concussion, but Dean distracts the demon long enough for Thomas to sneak around the couch and untie the hostage, some poor old woman whose possessed daughter is currently trying to kill them.

For all his earlier bravado and self-assurance, it does nothing to stop Dean from getting pounded into the floor. Thomas jumps on the woman's back to try and slow her down from killing the older man, but she just pulls him off her as though he were a rag doll. She's no doubt about to toss him aside again when she must see something that makes her hesitate. Black eyes narrow, focused completely on his, pulling him closer and staring as though she can see into his very soul.

"I know you," she snarls. Based on the way her grip around his neck tightens, that's not a good thing. Thomas' vision is just starting to go when he feels himself falling to the ground.

Choking out a few breaths, he watches as Dean handcuffs the woman. He wonders briefly what that could possibly do, but it somehow holds her. As he tries to keep her from fighting out of his grasp, Dean recites the exorcism. It's almost anti-climatic after that, the demon's smoky form fleeing the poor woman.

"You..." he swallows to try and ease the words out of his mouth. "You didn't kill her?"

Dean's carrying the woman's limp body, feeling for a pulse as he makes his way outside. "What's the point of doing this if you don't try and save 'em?"

He dusts himself off as he gets up. "And did we? Did we save her?"

A slight twitch at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, we did."

* * *

All in all, the hunt was easy. Too easy, really. He's high on a mix of unspent energy and excitement at taking down a _demon._ With _Dean Winchester_. As they drive to a bar after cleaning up, he can barely stay still and is out of the car before Dean's even turned off the ignition.

Thomas isn't a lightweight per say, but he's well past tipsy an hour later. And he may have lost count of his drinks. Dean just smiles indulgently at him and goes to order another round.

At some point, he's drunk enough and running on so much energy that he makes the decision that he needs to get laid. And after another shot, it's not just seeming like a good idea but a _fantastic_ one. He gives Dean a sloppy smile before somehow stumbling to the bar to start looking around.

His first attempt seems to be going well. The girl's probably around his age and is incredibly sweet. Their conversation is going well, especially considering he's slurring his words and maybe laughing a bit too much. But before he can manage to suggest they leave, her girlfriend shows up. He pouts slightly but chats with both girls for a couple more minutes before moving on.

This time it's an older guy who attracts his attention. Maybe in his thirties, decently built. He's a little too drunk to trust his ability to judge attractiveness, but they seem to hit it off and it's not like he plans on anything more than a quick lay. But this time it's not a cockblocking girlfriend that interrupts. This time it's Dean, who saunters over and pulls gently at his elbow.

"Hey, uh, can I talk to you?"

Maybe he should wonder a little bit more about why he doesn't even second guess letting Dean lead him away. Why he doesn't even care enough to say anything to the (possibly) cute guy he's been pulled away from. But that's really a problem for sober Thomas to worry about.

Back at their own table, the tension is palpable. He can see it so easily, how jealous Dean is. It's not something he really understands, though. Why would Dean be jealous? Is this a Cas thing or a Thomas thing? God, he must be drunk if he can't even tell anymore. Doesn't even care to try and tell the difference.

He patiently waits for Dean to start. Wonders how he'll approach whatever it is he's going to say. He's so busy watching Dean lick his lips that he's completely blindsided by the question.

"... What?"

"I said, what did that demon mean, saying she knew you?"

"I..." he tilts his head and tries to focus on Dean's eyes. This was not what he was expecting to talk about and he's at a loss. Not that he knew what he'd have said in the _other_ conversation he _had_ been expecting. "I don't know?"

"You sure? She was pretty convinced. Was gonna kill you for it."

He laughs (giggles really, but he's _not_ drunk enough to admit that he _giggles_ ). "She was gonna kill me anyway."

Dean just rolls his eyes and concedes the point. "Yeah, maybe. How 'bout we get you back to the motel, buddy."

For reasons he doesn't understand, his heart swells at being called "buddy."

Thomas is determined to make it back to the motel under his own power, so he pushes off Dean's attempt to shoulder some of his weight. After stumbling a couple times, however, he does allow Dean to rest a guiding hand on the small of his back.

As they walk along the near empty street, he wonders if he was wrong about Dean being jealous. He decides he shouldn't ask about it, it would just make things awkward that he was wrong.

Which of course means the next thing out of his mouth seconds later is a whiny, "Are you sure you weren't jealous cuz of the bar?"

There's a slight falter in Dean's stride, but otherwise he doesn't really react. "Thomas, if you wanna pick up chicks or dudes, I'm not gonna stop you."

"Then why'd you pull me away?" He can't tell if it's just plain old curiosity or annoyance that Dean _wasn't_ jealous.

It takes him a moment to answer. "You do realize you're drunk, right? Like... I'm not even sure how you're still standing."

"So?" The pouting is back and he can't stop it.

" _So?_ You are way too drunk to be making decisions, and you'd probably just like... throw up or something and ruin everyone's night."

They're about a block away from the bar - and the fact that Thomas doesn't remember most of the walk lends credence to what Dean had said - but it still doesn't sit well with him. "Are you _sure_ you weren't even a _little_ jealous?"

Dean just laughs. "You telling me you want me to be jealous?"

Thomas gives an over-dramatic shrug. "I dunno. Maybe."

He thinks Dean won't answer as he sifts through his pockets for the key (when did they get to the door? he really did drink too much...). He opens the door and motions for Thomas to get in, and as he passes, Dean gives him a small wink and says, "Noted."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** i planned on getting this done sooner, but more happened than i had originally anticipated... i also made the mistake of starting a separate, multi-chapter fic (not intetionally... that was supposed to be a oneshot but the characters just keep doing stuff). i'll (as always) try to stay on a weekly update basis as much as possible, if for my own sanity rather than anything else

any who - someone had asked about dean's age in this. i don't have a specific, hard answer for that. this is obviously canon divergent, but i never really picked a specific season when this would break off from canon. so i'd say dean is anywhere from mid 50's to early 60's (which is the age range my parents are, so i'm kinda using that as a basis). and let's face it, in 22 years from now dean/jensen will still be smokin' ;)

as always, feel free to hit me up on tumblr (jhoomwrites)

* * *

Thomas wakes up with morning wood and a pounding headache. Two minutes of consciousness and his body decides it's more interested in the headache. A minute after that he's puking in the motel toilet, gasping for breath between heaves. Eventually he feels the nausea subside long enough to rinse out his mouth and wander back into the room.

Dean is no where to be seen, but there's a glass of water and some aspirin on the table. Just when he feels the silence starting to soothe him, the door bursts open way too loudly. A laugh, much too happy for this shit awful morning, responds to his muffled groaning.

"C'mon, kid." A bag lands in his lap. It smells greasy - two parts delicious, one part vomit-inducing. "We got a long trip back. Get up, we're leaving in five. You can eat in the car."

"I'm not a kid," he huffs under his breath, but otherwise doesn't complain.

Whatever it was that might have (or might not have, his memory's a little hazy) happened that night remains unsaid.

* * *

Even if they don't talk about it, there's a noticeable shift in their dynamic. The tension between them is, at times, palpable. For himself, at least, Thomas finds his eyes being drawn to Dean's lips more or raking over his whole body more and more. It's, quite honestly, confusing.

Partly because Dean just... doesn't really seem to notice. No matter how long their staring matches go, it never seems to phase or even register with Dean.

Is Thomas imagining it?

But one time Dean catches him staring at his ass. All he does is wink before going back to what he was doing.

Thomas has no idea how to handle that.

* * *

The demon hunt was such a success that they each hint at doing another one. When Dean spots a likely ghoul case in Montana, they make a weekend of it. On the way back they happen upon a werewolf. A few weeks later, some suspicious deaths put them in Georgia.

Thomas is sure it's another demon - or maybe it's just because the last one was _exciting_ and he _wants_ it to be another one - but Dean's not convinced. The first vic's house was completely incinerated, so there's not much there to go on. It's not until the third sweep through the second vic's apartment that they find a hex bag stowed in a lighting fixture.

"Goddamn witches," is all Dean says, jaw tight.

Never having experience with any himself (at least not directly), he's worried by Dean's reaction. This is a man who had no issue with going after a demon a week and a half ago. Hell, he even seemed fine with doing it _alone_. But the idea of witches has him agitated and thoroughly on edge.

The horrific ways people keep dying makes Thomas start to understand.

They're flying blind, no real suspects after five deaths. Which is absolutely ridiculous, how could there not be _one thing_ that ties five people together? Their investigation must attract too much attention or tip off the wrong people, which isn't surprising since they have _no clue_ who the "wrong people" could be.

Dean sends Thomas out on a food run while he looks over maps. When he returns, their motel room is a mess. All their notes are missing and half the room has been demolished. It even looks like there might be bullet holes on one of the walls. Dean is, of course, no where to be found.

To say he starts to panic is an understatement. He probably stands there, near comatose, for a good half hour before there's a hesitant knock at the door.

There's a young woman, probably only a few years older than him. The only thing that snaps him out of his mini-meltdown is the sudden awareness that this woman might be a threat. He instinctively reaches for his gun.

"Wait, no, please!" She holds her hands up. "I'm on your side! I swear!"

He really doesn't believe her, but he has no leads and needs to find Dean. Although he doesn't relax his grip on his pistol, he does lower it slightly. "Go on."

Her name's Patty and yes, it is in fact a coven of witches behind the recent murders. She explains everything in detail, right from the forming of the coven to the reasons behind each death. And it's no wonder they weren't able to find a connection. The coven is relatively large, ten witches all in all, and their reasons for killing these people are just so _petty_.

Cut me off on the way to work. Didn't tip enough on dinner. Has an obnoxious laugh. Let my daughter eat candy before bed when she was babysitting. Parked too close to the lines and didn't leave enough room for another car.

When Thomas expresses his general disgust for her coven, Patty whole-heartedly agrees. "Why do you think I'm trying to _help_ you?"

"Okay, so help me. They took my friend. Where?"

Unfortunately she has no idea. They must have started to suspect her lack of enthusiasm for their latest revenge kicks because they had moved their normal meeting place. Short of searching each of their houses one by one, she has nothing to offer in terms of locating Dean.

"What are they going to do with him?"

She shrugs. "Honestly? Probably do some weird voodoo shit that needs a human sacrifice."

Thomas' stomach turns at the idea.

There's obviously no time to search, they need to find him _now_. The best Patty can offer is a locator spell. "But..."

"But what? I thought you were helping?"

"I'm here, aren't I? They find out I'm even talking to you, I'm dead. I have an invested interest in you and your friend killing these crazy bitches. So yeah, this is me helping."

"So what's the problem."

There's an embarrassed grimace. "I'm not exactly... like... a _good_ witch. I'm probably in the weaker end of the witch spectrum."

"Can you do the spell or not?"

"I can. It's just that normally you need something that belongs to the person you're trying to find. Anything they own will do. Pretty straight forward."

"And the reason it's _not_ straight forward _right now_ -"

"I'm not powerful enough to be able to find a link between just any ol' object. I need something _meaningful_ to the person. Some sort of connection that I can use."

Thomas suggests the Impala. Patty is skeptical. Not because she doubts the choice, but because if the spell goes as planned the car will take off towards Dean at full speed. Even sitting behind the wheel, they'd have no way of controlling the car.

He's stumped for a few minutes. They didn't bring much. And Dean's not really sentimental about his clothes or his shampoo (picky, yes, but he doubts the older man's affinity for a particular brand of product is enough to qualify as a "connection"). Panic is once again starting to worm it's way back under his skin when it hits him.

"Use me."

She gives him a look. "What?"

"Can you do it?"

"Yeah. But like... the bond you'd need to have with this guy..." She trails off, lets the implication hang between them.

He thinks of the pull Dean has had on him his entire life. That foreign sense of longing, never quite his own, that's been a tether between the two. If she could find a way to solidify it, he has no doubt he could find Dean.

They gather the ingredients. She shows him symbols to paint on the ground while she lights some candles and starts mixing some powders. He sits across from her and leans into her hands like she asks.

"You sure about this? If the bond's not strong enough, this probably won't work. The connection will be too weak and you won't be able to pinpoint his location. We'll waste a lot of time just trying to find the right direction. An inanimate object is really-"

"It'll work. Just do it."

The witch just makes a face but stops trying to talk him out of it. "This'll be a little different than if it were the car. It'll clear your mind, dust out some of the cob webs that might be up there, and act like a homing beacon. Well, assuming you have the kind of bond that you seem to think you two do. If you don't..." She shrugs, clearly not all that torn up about the fact that it'll probably do some serious damage.

She holds his face in place, chanting what sounds like gibberish but is hopefully a spell to help him save Dean. At first it feels like nothing is happening. This is a total waste and she's either here to slow him down or she's a whole lot weaker than previously indicated.

Then there's the splitting headache that bursts through his head. He's drowning in pain and can't find a way out of it for god knows how long. When he does come to, Patty is kneeling over him, shaking him gently but insistently. He stares at her for a while, still in some sort of shock, before he blinks and awareness comes back to him.

He nearly knocks her over with how quickly he gets up. "Let's go," he snaps, grabbing the keys to the Impala and not bothering to see if she follows.

* * *

Patty wasn't wrong. It's like a beacon's been lit. He knows _exactly_ where Dean is, even has a sense of who's around him. When they get to the edge of an orchard, he parks the car and immediately hops the fence and heads northwest. Patty scrambles to keep up, not even trying to question him.

They find the coven gathered around an unlit pyre, a lifeless figure strapped to a pole at its center. To his own surprise, no panic comes at seeing Dean like this. Somehow he knows the other man is alright.

He and Patty lurk at the edges of their gathering, staying hidden in the dusky shadows. They hadn't really discussed a plan, not outright, but Patty had made it clear that these witches had no qualms about killing. Talking to him alone had forfeit her life in their eyes, and he's sure his own life is less than meaningless in their eyes.

Still, he hesitates. Witches or not, these are people.

And then one of the witches walks to Dean, still unconscious and looking a little worse for wear, with a blade raised.

She's dead before she can break his skin.

He doesn't have enough bullets for all of them and he misses two shots. The resulting chaos has curses flying all over the place. He keeps to the perimeter of the treeline, both for cover and to keep their attention away from Dean. Patty, for her part, manages to take out two of them and nullify some of the spells directed his way.

All told, the whole skirmish couldn't have lasted more than ten minutes.

Only when he's sure it's safe does he approach Dean and begin to untie him, though it's not until he takes on some of the other man's weight that he wakes up.

"Wh' happen'd?"

"Apparently the witches found and subdued you before bringing you here. They may have been planning to use you in a ritualistic human sacrifice." Dean just nods knowingly with eyes still a little distant. "And I'm guessing they hit your head. You may have a concussion."

"Pr'bly."

He sighs. Not ideal, but still much better than the alternatives.

"Hey."

Oh, right. Patty.

"I'll clean this up." _This._ Her coven until earlier today, and she refers to everything as casually as though she were offering to take out the trash or set the table for dinner.

He's wary to let her go. Knowing what her coven did and as capable of, he can't help but wonder if she'll end up the same. But he's tired and Dean's clearly woozy and he really can't bring himself to have to kill anyone else today. So he just nods in the faintest bit of acknowledgement before making the long trip back to the Impala.

* * *

There's no way he can go back to their old motel room, what with the state it was in. He drives an hour or so before pulling in somewhere new. Luckily they didn't leave anything valuable behind.

Once settled, he fills Dean in on what happened.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Dean all but screeches when he finds out. "They killed those people for that stupid shit?" The rest is just a tirade of curses.

His concerns about letting Patty go rest on the tip of his tongue. Dean seems to sense it and pats his knee. "Hey, you did the right thing. Gotta trust your instincts on this stuff, man, or you'll drive yourself crazy."

Dean's hand lingers for the rest of the conversation.

He determines Dean's concussion to be a minor one and insists he sleep. Dean grumbles about it ( _"Okay, mom.")_ but does as he's told. They can drive back to Lawrence in the morning, though he fully expects on argument about who should drive.

* * *

He dreams such _dreams_ that night. Everyone's dreamed they're someone else, but this is different. They have the same surreal quality of a dream, but they're so rooted in something that feels like memory. From the moment he passes out the moment his eyes flutter open, he's someone else.

It's so complete that he's more disoriented than usual when he wakes up.

Dean's throwing a towel at him and telling him to shower, a cup of coffee steaming on the nightstand. He grumbles something (hopefully something snarky, but it was probably just a string of nonsense) before going to wash the sleep from his eyes.

The hot water calms his nerves, soothes the mystery ache in the back of his mind. Nothing seems off until he goes to shave. He looks into the mirror and starts slightly. The face looking back at him is right but not right. The general features seem close to how they should be, but the specific details are all wrong.

He stares so long that eventually the face in front of him becomes familiar again. Maybe not the one he was expecting, but one he knows.

Very deliberately, he's able to ignore the odd experience.

* * *

 **AN:** hmmm when was the last time i wrote the name "thomas" - you know how annoying it is to purposely only use the pronouns "he/him" instead of someone's name .


	12. Chapter 12

**AN:** this is somewhat of a short chapter - i have to think about where i'm going to go after this, so i thought it would be better to put up something now as opposed to waiting another week for a longer chapter

i also had someone mention that this story probably could've ended when dean & thomas first meet - that was actually my initial intention, but then when i actually started writing i ended up spending all this time shaping out thomas and his experiences leading up to meeting dean. it felt kind of... incomplete? unsatisfying? to stop at their meeting. i wanted to explore how things would go from there. which is why i'm still knee deep in this fic .

* * *

It's not until a couple of days have passed that he notices the change. Of all places, it's at a coffee shop. He places an order for both himself and Dean. The barista asks for a name and the words are almost out of his mouth before he sputters to a dead stop.

"It's for-"

He chokes slightly, wonder switching off his brain for a moment before he scrambles to answer the poor guy trying to take his order. "It's for Winchester," he manages to stutter out. Somehow that seemed a safer answer.

There's an empty table nearby and he sits. He takes a few deep breaths to try and calm his rapidly beating heart, because his body has decided to react just as strongly as his mind did.

Castiel. He was going to say Castiel.

Not Thomas. Not even Cas, the only way Dean has ever referred to the angel. Castiel.

What the actual fuck.

* * *

Upon further reflection, he realizes he hasn't referred to himself as Thomas for a while now. For sure not since Georgia, but even before then the facade of a distinct "Thomas" was slipping. The exact where and how and why elude him, but the very real conclusion remains.

In the confines of his own mind, he thinks of himself as Castiel.

Fuck.

* * *

Two weeks later, he asks Dean to start calling him "Cas." He had waited to make sure, just to see if it was something temporary. If the realization would startle him back into being Thomas. There was the very real possibility it was just a side effect of whatever mojo the witch had worked on him.

But the feeling didn't wane.

If anything, it grew stronger. His dreams at night were more real. Every piece of it he could describe in minute detail. He was pretty sure they were memories. At first he feared that he's been influenced by Dean's stories, but he knows better. There are things he remembers that Dean could not have known.

(How could he have seen the birth of the sun? Or the beauty of Eden? Even in Hell, he did not see how his own soul was a beautiful thing in a pit of darkness. No, these are things that come from Castiel alone.)

A game he plays is he lets his mind wander through his memories, tries to pick apart if they are Castiel or Thomas. He knows both well enough, both are _him_ , that it often takes a moment to place them.

Though at times the images of Cas' life are fuzzy, worn away because of the distance Thomas' life has created, he feels he could easily fit into the lives of Thomas _or_ Castiel.

When he brings it up to Dean, he doesn't say all that. Castiel's memories bring new insight into Dean, and he does not want to create a false impression. He _isn't_ Castiel. He _was_ Castiel. Years have passed, and from this human perspective years seems like a long time. Things have changed. Above all, _he_ has changed. To give Dean the idea that he might behave in the same way his friend did... It would be unwise.

So all he does is express his comfort with being called Cas. Or Castiel. Or Thomas, for that matter. In his mind, they are all one and the same.

He doesn't know how he expected Dean to react - perhaps a hopeful smile or barely contained affection in his eyes - but all that he gets is a stunned yet carefully neutral expression. "Sure."

* * *

If Cas thought things were tense before, it's nothing in comparison to how they are now. Dean seems both more at ease and more on edge around him. He has actively avoided calling him by name - whether it be Cas or Thomas - and every conversation they have eventually putters to a stop, Dean looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

They don't really talk about it for about a week, and only then because Cas can't stand it anymore.

"What wrong?"

Dean's usual trend to deny his own feelings appears not to have disappeared over the years. "Nothing."

" _Dean_." Not harsh, but enough bite to show he can see through the bullshit.

"Ca.. I don't know what you're talking about."

And that says it all, doesn't it?

 _You don't know what to call me anymore. Don't know who I am._

 _But you want me to be Cas. You're hoping I'm Cas._

They stare at each other for a moment, Dean clearly defensive.

He sighs. "I've made you uncomfortable."

"What? No, no of course-" Dean swallows at the unamused stare he receives. "Okay, maybe a little-"

"I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention." He rubs at his temples in an exasperation that feels more like Castiel's. Long-suffering Castiel who has had to deal with Dean in similar contexts too often. "Would you prefer to go back to-"

"No." They have a short staring match, Cas' raised eyebrow meeting Dean's determined gaze. "Look, you're figuring out who you are. I need to get over my shit and be more supportive of that. Sorry if I've been... well, however I've been." A pause. "Seriously, dude, I'm here to help."

Cas takes a moment to think about it. This, actually, is not the Dean he knew for years. This is an older, more grown up one that is more in keeping with Thomas' experience. Both halves consider the offer, give a small smile, and say a simple, "Thank you."

* * *

Dean seems to have a knack for knowing when he feels more Castiel vs Thomas. Probably because he's known both, knows their mannerisms inside and out by this point. Just the way he carries himself has Dean giving him a pat on the back with a call of "Tommy boy" or a blinding smile and a shy, "Hey Cas."

True to his word, Dean makes an obvious effort to not be weird about the whole thing. There's some undercurrent still there, something left unsaid, but for the most part it's unnoticeable.

It finally comes to a head one night at a bar outside of St Paul. Just a salt and burn, nothing too fancy or hard, but it's become routine for them to hit up a local bar for dinner after a successful hunt. This place is a shithole, really, but that doesn't make its alcohol any less potent.

Dean, for once, is the one who gets drunk.

Castiel has plenty of experience with drunk Dean. He sighs and prepares himself for the inevitable flirting or hustling or perhaps even bar fight that always come. They don't have separate rooms, so he wonders briefly if Dean would kick him out while he scores. Maybe he'll get a second room.

None of this happens, though. It takes a moment for him to figure out why. Cas has seen drunk 30-something Dean many times. This is 50-something Dean.

Instead, it appears Dean has become quite the chatty Cathy over the years. He has a slight pink blush on his cheeks as he goes through story after story of hunts he's been on. He happens to avoid the near decade of time Castiel was still around, focusing on stories that are from his early life (right after John started trusting him to hunt on his own) to a bit after he gave up looking for Cas.

Cas doesn't bother cutting him off from the bar until he tells the story three times in a row, hiccuping through the last rendition. He humors him through another re-telling before he decides it's time to leave.

It's a struggle for Dean to walk, so he ends up leaning a lot of his weight on Cas. Dean goes quiet on the walk back to the motel, too much of his energy spent on trying to put one foot in front of the other. At the door, Cas can barely juggle holding onto Dean and searching his pockets for the key.

"Knew you weren't dead," he slurs, weight pressing into Cas' side. "Knew it."

"Hmm," he says in way of response. He finally manages to work the door open and manhandle Dean inside. He guides him to the nearest bed and the older man flops down gracelessly.

"Knew you wouldn't leave me."

"I was gone for twenty two years, Dean."

"'s okay, I forgive you," he says around a yawn before rolling over. Light snoring can be heard before Cas has thought how to react.

He barely sleeps that night.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN:** Wow this took a turn I was not expecting at this juncture (lol, says the girl who thought this would be a 3-4 part story... I clearly give my characters too much free reign). So it ended up longer than I thought this installment would be - which is always a good thing, right? As always, thanks for reading and commenting and sticking with me as I continue to try and finish this story!

* * *

He's in a Thomas mood today. Which is probably for the best, because his sister calls him to ask about Thanksgiving.

"Shit, is that next week?"

"Well... today is Sunday. So no, it's actually _this_ week."

"Oh."

She makes a show of giving him shit for losing track of time so badly he didn't even realize the major holiday coming up. With little resistance on his part, she guilts him into agreeing to drive home and spend a long weekend with his family.

* * *

That night he wakes up from a wet dream, his boxers soaked and body covered in sweat. The situation is a familiar one to Thomas, even if it has been years. As his hands grope around his nightstand for some tissues, he tries to remember what he was dreaming about.

Muted colors. The smell of dirt and blood. Dean's ever present longing, but so much more _intense_ than it usually is. Prayers that turned from pleas for him to appear to something much more _desperate_. Promises of things he'll do to him when they're together again...

Purgatory, then.

With a sigh, he tosses the tissues and boxers onto the floor. He'll deal with them in the morning.

This part is not unusual for Cas. His mind indulging in hopes that Dean's longing could change into something more carnal.

He frowns slightly. It seems straight forward, but something about the conclusion rings false. He muddles over the idea of Cas desiring Dean, which is absolutely true. He may not have always understood the exact nature of that desire when he was an angel, but it had been an ever present thing. But through Thomas' eyes he's able to better understand-

Oh.

 _Oh._

The dual threads of desire, coming from both Castiel and Thomas but centered completely on Dean Winchester, come as somewhat of a shock. Each very distinct. Castiel's desire is something old, coming from the fires of Hell itself. Something forged after years together. It is solid and unbreakable. Not even Falling could strip him of it.

Thomas, on the other hand, harbors a mix of awe and hero worship. Over time with the man, it had evolved into something a little more tender, something that's been there all his life but never in this form. Though perhaps not indestructible, he knows it's not something he'll ever truly be able to shake.

Well then. This might complicate things.

* * *

He blushes when Dean groggily stumbles into the kitchen the next morning. All too aware of his dream, it's hard to meet the older man's eyes.

Dean yawns loudly and goes to get some coffee, just a hint of his stomach visible as he stretches.

If possible, he blushes even more before trying to hide behind his box of Fruit Loops. He's in desperate need of a distraction because between his dream and Dean's hip bones too much attention is moving south and oh god he's _reacting_. Something needs to happen before Dean wakes up enough to notice he's being weird.

Picking apart what he could possibly say, he remembers his brief conversation the previous evening.

"My sister called yesterday-"

A bit of sputtering and choking before a surprised, "You have a sister?"

"Yes?" He squints in confusion before remembering Dean has very much avoided the topic of Thomas' family. It makes him a bit uncertain how much information would no be appropriate, so he decides to stick to the bare minimum and offer Dean the chance to inquire for more if he's interested. "I'm going to be leaving probably first thing tomorrow morning to head back home."

"What?! Why?"

"It's Thanksgiving, and my sister hasn't seen me in a while so she very firmly suggested I come back to visit."

The panic that had flared up for just a second seems to disappear as quickly as it came. But something else replaces it that doesn't look much better. Thomas can't recognize Dean's expression, but Castiel does. Crestfallen is the best way to describe it.

"Yeah, I guess that is coming up..."

Considering he himself had forgotten, it's no surprise Dean seems to have lost track of time. But there's something more to Dean's reaction. Should he push a bit more to find out what's wrong? Is there actually something wrong or is he getting confused with the differing Thomas/Castiel viewpoints?

"I was just, uh," the older man is now blushing slightly and avoiding eye contact. "I thought maybe you'd like to come with me to visit Sam." In a rush he adds, "But I totally understand if you need to visit your family."

Thomas stares at Dean for what must be far too long because he starts to fidget. "Oh," he says dumbly. There are conflicting desires welling up inside of him. Castiel so much wants to see Sam again, make sure things went well for him in the past few decades. Meet his wife and daughter, get to know him again. Yet Thomas also misses his own family - his sister and parents, and likely some extended family who will make an appearance at dinner.

But those seem to cancel out, that longing for loved ones. Instead, it's Thomas' anxiety at the prospect of meeting Sam again that decides it. The idea of being judged by the other Winchester, measured up to Castiel, is overwhelming. And a wife and a daughter and a dog and what Dean might be expecting from all this-

He starts to shut down, worry consuming everything else until Castiel comes to the forefront and starts soothing the younger, human version of himself.

Dean seems to be aware, at least a little, of his internal conflict. He doesn't push for an answer, just lets him muddle through it. Although not explicitly made, Thomas understands the offer Dean has made. And he knows equally well that he cannot accept it.

"I don't think I'll be able to make it out to Sam's."

"Yeah, I figured." There's no bitterness, though. Just acceptance. Thomas is grateful for that.

* * *

The trip back home gives him far too much time to think.

Why does he normally identify as Castiel. His Thomas-days are fewer and farther between. It seems especially relevant to think about as drives to spend time with his family.

Perhaps with his proximity to Dean, the part of himself who best knows the Righteous Man can shine through. Maybe with Thomas' family, the young man will reassert himself.

Will there ever be a happy balance between the two? Or will he always be shifting back and forth between them? If he stays too long with Dean or too long with Thomas' family, will the other half of him just disappear?

Oddly enough, all of these possibilities seem dissatisfying.

* * *

The theory that the people around him have an influence turns out to be _very_ accurate. There is almost no trace of Castiel while in the presence of Thomas' family. Thomas laughs and catches up with everyone, though is of course vague about his activities. Instead of focusing on where he's staying, he tells stories of the places he's been to. His parents ask how he gets money, but it's easy to deflect with assurances that he had worked enough during college that he has some savings.

Well, it would not be entirely accurate to say that he does not notice Castiel. The angel is usually staying hidden in the background, preoccupying himself with trying to piece together his faded memories or enjoyable listening on in funny stories from Thomas' childhood. But that muted, disconnected feeling disappears occasionally and Castiel steps forward a bit more.

Those times always seem to coincide with that gut-dropping longing Dean still projects. It lost the sour, pained note to it that always felt like the wind was getting knocked out of him. No, that particular nuance of the longing disappeared around the time he admitted he was comfortable being called Cas. Now it has a dull and almost bored quality to it. Acceptance, maybe?

Most of the time it doesn't matter. It's only really pronounced during the night when he's half asleep. And almost constantly throughout Thanksgiving dinner, but at least then his family offers a means of ignoring it.

* * *

Though he had only promised a long weekend, his sister and cousins had convinced him to stay until the following Wednesday. He takes his time on the way back, even stopping for a quick solo hunt. (It turns out to be nothing, which is both a relief and a disappointment.) So it's not until Friday that he's back in Lawrence.

Almost the moment he opens the door, he's enveloped in a giant bear hug. He can barely breathe with how hard Dean's squeezing him. Spots start to dot his eyes as he awkwardly tries to reciprocate, barely managing to get his arms around the older man. Not quite able to get them all the way around, he settles for patting his back.

"Fuck, I missed you."

"Yes." It's all he can get out with the little bit of air he's gotten.

Dean seems to notice and relaxes his hold somewhat. Cas is very much aware that this hug tiptoes along the line of what friendship allows. And then it feels like Dean's nuzzling against him, deeply inhaling his smell-

Cas pulls away because there is no part of him that's truly ready to untangle that particular thread of their relationship.

Add it to the list of things they don't talk about.

The reunion moves into the kitchen. Dean's already eaten, but he pulls out a couple beers and reheats some leftovers. They share how their respective family gatherings went. For the first time, Dean actually goes out of his way to ask about Thomas' family. Pleased, the young man gives a full account of everything. In turn, he demands to know about Sam's life.

Hours pass and Cas is amazed by how _at home_ he is. Here, in this little house. Just him and Dean. Feeling guilty, he checks with Thomas and finds that, he too, feels it. Perhaps not as profoundly as Castiel, but it is undeniably there.

One beer turns into two and then five later he's giggling, rosy cheeks giving away his slight inebriation. At least he makes a point of telling himself he's only _slightly_ drunk - it makes him feel better that he's let it happen again in front of Dean. Though, thankfully, Dean's been keeping up with him drink for drink. They end up having to get takeout because neither has the dexterity to cook at the moment.

He watches Dean's hands as he dials the number, watches his lips as he orders, the way he smiles even though the person on the other end can't see it. It's so bad he doesn't even notice he was staring until Dean's hanging up and grinning at him.

He is so totally fucked.

"I missed you too, Dean."

It's unfortunate he has no filter when he's got some alcohol in him.

"Thanks, buddy. Thanksgiving wasn't the same without you."

Quietly picking at his beer label, he shakes his head. Even if it's important, he really doesn't want to see Dean's reaction. "No, I mean... When I was gone. When I was just Thomas. I... I missed you."

Perhaps he's just a touch too drunk to notice how the atmosphere in the small kitchen seems to ignite. The tension is thick in the air and even if they tried, there'd be no way to hide it.

"Thomas... You didn't even know me then." Even if it doesn't sound like it, he knows there's a question there.

"I did." He finally meets Dean's eyes and sees the shock. Frowning, he finds himself needing to correct what he's said. "I mean, I sort of did. I always felt your praying-"

"I didn't pray."

An eye roll. "Yes, you did. Maybe not in so many words, but you most certainly did." Dean doesn't bother refuting. "Often."

Suddenly he feels very very sober as he waits for an answer. Any answer would do, because right now Dean isn't just looking at him, he's looking _into_ him and it's unnerving.

"Do you remember what happened? Twenty three years ago?" _Do you remember how I lost Cas?_

He swallows heavily, but knows he can't ignore the question now that it's been asked. "Yes," he whispers, hating how small his voice sounds.

At Dean's expectant look, he tells him. About how Heaven had given him an ultimatum. Stay and do as they asked, help put things back together. Be an adviser as they re-built. Not a leader, no, not that again. Or... stay on earth. Permanently. And the only way either side could assure that - make sure Castiel would not try to come back and interfere should he see reason to, make sure the angels would not go back on their word and demand his return later - was for him to become human.

He leaves out the parts where it felt like a supernova exploding inside of him when he tore out his Grace.

When he's finished, he waits. Dean will probably have questions. And through the haze of years gone by, of another life lived, he will try to answer them. But Dean only has one.

"Why?"

It's just so _absurd_ , to hear that word come out of that man's mouth, that he can't help it. He laughs and laughs til he can barely breath. Regaining his composure takes some time. Dean has a pained expression on his face and he realizes that the other man still doubts, even now.

" _Why?_ Dean, I have chosen your cause again and again. Against my own brethren. Why would you think I would not then, too, when given no other choice?"

And to both of their surprise, that's when Dean leans forward and kisses him.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN:** Yeah uh, note the rating change. If this ain't your thing, you might wanna skip the end of this chapter. There will probably be a bit more of these two idiots getting over years of sexual tension before they actually work out their problems. Because these are two men that are not well-adjusted enough to talk *before* having sex. *sigh*

This actually turned into a lot more of an existential crisis/self-doubt thing for Cas than I had intended. Whoops? But I think he kinda needs to go through it to figure out some things. Did not anticipate this chapter being so long tbh. Oh well!

* * *

Everything freezes. There's nothing but Dean's lips against his, Dean's hand coming up to curl in the hairs at the nap of his neck, Dean's scent when he manages to breathe in. His body is floating in a whirl of _Dean, Dean, Dean_.

He suspects it's what heaven feels like.

His brain short circuits for a bit until he has to pull away just to give himself a chance to _think_ again. "What are you doing?" he gasps, his voice husky.

"Kissing you," Dean says as though it really is that simple (a lie, they both know it). He leans in again, capturing Cas' lips before his mind is able to catch up to what's going on. His own can't help but move against Dean's eagerly. "Mmm, love kissing you," Dean whispers before nibbling on Cas' lower lip.

Cas finally snaps out of whatever spell he's been under since Dean first claimed his lips. When Dean tries to move in again, he puts his hand on his chest to gently keep him away. "Dean," and damn it if his voice quivers a bit. "Stop. Please-"

Hearing the urgency behind it, Dean pulls back a little more. Not far enough to stop their breaths from mingling, but enough that Cas' head starts to clear.

"You okay?"

He closes his eyes because he needs to block out the other man at least a little, needs to not have _everything_ around him be Dean. He's drowning in his taste, his scent, the heat radiating off his skin... he'd never come back out again if he had to look into those green eyes. "Not really." Even though he knows it must hurt Dean to hear it, he says it because it's the truth.

Immediately, Dean's gone, presence no longer overwhelming all his senses. "Sorry," he stutters. "Guess I was misreading this whole thing-"

"No. You aren't... misreading anything."

A pause. Less embarrassed but still concerned, "Too much?"

"Yes."

With Dean's retreat, Cas finally opens his eyes again. Dean's looking at him like he's a skittish animal about to bolt, which, yeah, maybe isn't so far from the truth. The silence is an offer - a sign that _he_ is in charge, whether it be talking about whatever just happened, more of it, or quietly ignoring the whole thing. He tries not to focus on Dean's lips as he weighs out each option.

"You aren't misreading things," he repeats. Because he needs Dean to understand that much. This isn't a rejection or a lack of interest. It's just... one more thing on a pile of other things he still hasn't sorted out. He is by no means opposed to exploring whatever it is Dean is offering, but right now he simply lacks the capacity to process everything that's going on.

"But... you're not ready for-" he gestures between the two of them, "whatever this is."

He manages a deep sigh before a sad, "Yes."

Dean just shrugs. If he's disappointed, he hides it well. "Alright so... slow down?"

Words are a little beyond him at the moment, so he nods. Yes, he can manage that. Just as relief is starting to flow through him, Dean invades his space once more. He freezes in something between surprise and delight as his is pushed off his forehead and Dean places a small peck on his temple.

He stands up and must notice either the tension in his body or the way his eyes have gone wide in surprise. "Dude," he says with a gentle pat on the shoulder. "You're thinking too hard. C'mon, let's go put on a bad movie and make fun of it."

Cas tries to hide a smile the rest of the night. Sitting on the worn couch next to Dean - close enough that their thighs occasionally rub together but not so close that he can truly feel his heat - arguing over which decade has the worst action movies and occasionally allowing Dean to sneak in a chaste kiss to his cheek or the back of his hand... Well, it's the happiest he can ever remember being.

* * *

They live in a strange sort of limbo after that. So many questions rise up that Cas ends up voicing none of them. But there is a constant wonder of, _How long? Why now?_

He's sure Dean would answer them, but that would require actually talking. There's enough irony that _he_ is the one avoiding a talk about "feelings" whereas Dean is suddenly quite open. What exactly did he miss in the last twenty two years?

The casual, slightly more than platonic touches continue. Nothing too much. A hand lingering on his shoulder. Dean mussing his hair in the morning. Playful shoving matches over who gets the shower first. And maybe the occasional brush of Dean's lips against Cas'.

* * *

Staying together in the house with this new, strange energy building between them grinds on Cas' nerves. After a few days of lounging about the house with the mood between them so tense he can _feel_ it like a physical itch, he needs a distraction.

So he throws himself into hunting. This emotional turmoil isn't the type of thing he's had a lot of in his life as Thomas (or even, really, as Castiel). He lacks the coping mechanisms to deal with an identity crisis, is too terrified to confide completely in either Dean or his sister, so he finds hunt after hunt.

Not that Dean seems to mind. He follows Cas' lead, even if that lead takes them through six states in five days. No case is too small to escape their notice. Even the salt and burns that are so straight forward they barely qualify as a pit stop. And perhaps these cases don't offer the diversion he needs from his jumbled head space, at least they offer something for him and Dean to discuss.

Because he _cannot_ have that conversation right now. He knows how Castiel feels about Dean Winchester. God (despite his apparent lack of interest in Heaven, Hell and Earth alike) knows how much he loves that man. The lengths he would go for him.

And by now he knows how Thomas feels. It's an echo of Castiel's desires, grown over the course of decades from a fuzzy feeling in the back of his head that he couldn't quite place to a very identifiable connection. Admiration, respect, lust.

No, it's not anything on his end that has him hesitate when he sees Dean lick his lips or look at him just a beat too long. It's Dean's motives that have him terrified. What does he want from this? Is this something from before, something he's known and carried with him for years? Or did he only notice the depths of his affection for Cas once he had disappeared? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. Will it be a permanent change in their relationship, or something Dean will soon get his fill of and then go back to how things were?

Castiel wants answers to all of these questions and, right now, none of them.

Not that it stops him from playing out every possible scenario in his head. On an endless loop he imagines all the things could say, all the pleasant and horrible ways things could go. All the ways he could lose Dean-

"Dude," Dean cuts into his thoughts, obviously exasperated. "What are you dong?"

It takes him a minute to realize he's taken an exit off of 70. "Going to Fayette? I read about a haunting and I thought we could-"

"Oh my _god_ ," Dean rubs both hands over his face in frustration. "I _knew_ I shouldn't let you drive."

He takes a deep breath before letting it out. That's the only warning to the rant he's about to give. "Cas, Thomas, whoever's trying to work me into an early grave with this one... I am closing in on 60. I _cannot_ spend days in a car living out of motel rooms anymore. Hell, I bitched about it when I was 30 but, I mean, I _dealt_ with it. You've been driving me from one end of the country to the other for the last week. My back is killing me. My feet are killing me. My knees are killing me. There are very few parts of my body not trying to kill me right now. We are reasonably within a couple hours of home. For the love of god, please, _please_ turn this car around and take me to Lawrence."

Okay, so maybe Dean has noticed his avoidance through hunting. And maybe he's supportive of the "going slow" part of whatever's going on right now, but he clearly overestimated Dean's tolerance for bs cases.

And he kinda gets it. His legs are stiff and the motel beds aren't doing his back any favors. Another night or two and his body would probably be begging for the comforts of his own room. So, yeah, he understands where Dean's coming from. Yet the idea of being back in the house with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, it makes his hands go clammy and stomach drop.

One more day. Just one more and then he can deal with it again. "Dean," he goes for scolding and is proud that his voice doesn't sound too strained. "There is a haunting in Fayette."

"It'll keep another couple days, man. Not like the ghost is going anywhere."

"People are getting hurt."

Actually indignant, Dean huffs, "Are you tryin' to _guilt_ me into taking on this case?"

"Aren't you the one trying to guilt _me_ into taking you home?"

Dean's jaw drops for a second before snapping shut. " _Fine,_ " he grumbles, but there's no bite behind it. "But I get first dibs on beds and _as soon as_ this case is done we are driving straight back home, no pit stops. Capiche?"

"I capiche."

* * *

It's too late when they pull into town to do anything other than check in at the nearest motel and hit up a diner. They sit too close to each other in the booth, Dean's arm around Cas' shoulders. He even lets Cas steal half of his dessert right off his plate. Their waitress seems to think they're a couple, saying how cute they look together. Dean thanks her with a wink and a smile. Cas just blushes.

And it's a weird kind of torture. Because this is _exactly_ what he wants. To have Dean and hunt with him, share pie in bland dinners and just... be themselves. Part of him thinks that all of this is a possible future. If he just takes that final step, he can have it.

Of course there's that other part of him that can't help but think this is temporary. Like every piece of happiness he's ever had, whether as Castiel or Thomas, it was just a way to pass the time from one state of misery and anxiety to the next. So he just sits here on the fence, wondering which side he'll end up falling from.

* * *

After much deliberation, Dean picks the bed closest to the door. Cas doesn't know why, nor does he care. They seem identical, but if it makes Dean happy to pick the "better" bed, then whatever.

When he wakes up, he realizes the difference. Dean's bed isn't so much the one closer to the door so much as it's the one closer to the bathroom. Great, looks like he's getting the second shower today.

Dean greats him cheerfully with a "Mornin'!" and a slap on the back when he comes out of the shower. Cas just grumbles a reply, trying to ignore the fact that Dean came out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, his hair still wet and a complete spiky mess. Avoiding eye contact (and starring at that damn towel), he just grabs some clothes and makes a beeline for the bathroom.

Mercifully, Dean has saved at least a bit of hot water for him. He gets about two minutes of actual heat before it settles into lukewarm. Not great, but certainly manageable. What's more annoying is the partial erection he woke up with that jumped to full mast when he saw Dean in towel. Imagining how they would hug his hipbones, expose the slight pudge of his belly and the freckled, tan expanse of his chest... How the water dripping down the small of his back might taste...

The damn shower goes from lukewarm to frigid without any warning. Cas yelps and jumps out of the spray, all hopes of finishing _that_ mastubatory fantasy flying out the window. He gingerly manages to wash off the remaining soap suds and rinse out the shampoo, somehow avoiding the freezing water as much as possible.

Ugh, this day was going to suck.

* * *

Simple salt and burn. By the books. A paradigm of an easy hunt.

At least, that's what the plan was. He's been at this long enough that he should know better. That even a regular old haunting can turn dangerous if you're not careful.

And he's not careful. Maybe his head's not in the game right now, too busy trying to figure out the "Dean Problem." Or it could be the left over tension from his interrupted jack off session in the shower. Something's off, and in the end it doesn't really matter what caused it.

What matters is the sheer force used to hurl him across the room, through a window and out into the courtyard of some turn of the century house turned historic landmark. Well, fuck.

Dean's in the backyard digging up the body and trying to light it up, so he's on his own. And he's not even surprised to see he lost his iron crowbar on his impromptu tour into the garden. Salt's in his duffle, and he's guessing that right about now that's safely sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala because he has no fucking foresight today, obviously.

Glass is everywhere and he tries to crawl away. His knees hurt so they're probably bruised and bloody and god, he does _not_ look forward to picking out glass shards. There's just enough time for him to hope his jeans are thick enough to have caught most of it before he's in the air again. His ears ring as he hits the pavement, though thankfully he's at least been thrown clear of the broken window.

This ghost, the former owner of this home some hundred years back, has definitely gotten control of some corporeal abilities. Why he bothers acknowledging that with a cold, dead spirit's hand blocking his windpipe, well, it must be the lack of oxygen.

He's been in life or death situations before. They say that your life flashes before your eyes, but all he can manage to think is, "What will my mother think when they say her son asphyxiated to death in some historical brothel he broke into in the middle of the night?"

When the ghost goes up in flames, Cas barely notices. Sure, he slumps to the ground and gasps for air. Stars dance in front of his eyes and he doesn't really register the fact that he's still alive until he's vaguely aware of someone shouting his name.

Dean's kneeling next to him, fussing over him in a way that makes him think that he really needs to stop nearly dying in front of him.

"Cas!"

Oh right, Dean's been talking this whole time. "Hmm?"

"Answer me! You okay?"

With a concentrated effort, he stands up. "Yeah, just a little worse for wear."

He only just regains his balance before he's slammed against the wall again. Dean is almost as predatory as the ghost before him. When Dean kisses him, so aggressive and demanding he can't breathe again, it's at least for much more pleasant reasons.

"Don't you. _Ever._ Do that. Again." Each word punctuated with a kiss. "You do not. Get to. Die on me. Anymore."

Cas just whimpers in response. If Dean keeps this up, he'd do anything Dean asked. This seems like an easy enough concession. "Yes," he gasps out when Dean moves from his lips to the line of his jaw, then down to his neck. "Okay."

 _This is actually happening._ Unless he died and his little slice of heaven is just all the ways Dean can drive him wild. (Though he's long suspected that might actually be the case.)

He'd almost forgotten about his earlier injuries until Dean presses in a little more firmly, the pressure making him grunt as pain bursts through his ribs. Dean pulls back in concern, but Cas pulls him back in. "Don't you dare stop, Winchester."

When Dean slides his leg between Cas', this time he groans in appreciation. "Dean," he whispers.

"It's okay, baby, I got you." Then his lips are claimed again and there's no more talking, no more thinking.

He shifts a bit and suddenly he can feel Dean's erection pressed into his thigh and _fuck_ it just about ruins him. His hips jerk in response, and Dean must notice Cas is as far gone because he grins against his lips and moves his hands to Cas' waist. Holding him in place, though mindful of the bruised areas, as he thrusts against him once. Liking the way Cas moans, he does it again.

Again and again, trying different angles and pressure. Eventually he finds the right combination when they both gasp together, Cas' hips immediately moving to try and repeat the movement. Dean's fingers dig in a little - a warning - and hold Cas in place while he takes over again, rutting against him.

At some point they give up on kissing, too focused on the steady roll of Dean's hips. Cas' head falls back and he pants, Dean's forehead resting on the wall by his right ear. His breathing doesn't sound much better.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

The noise he makes in response should probably be embarrassing.

"Say it, wanna hear you say it-"

"Yes," he gasps. "Yes, Dean, please- Want to come for you-"

"Oh, _fuck_." He loses their careful rhythm for a moment and then it's back, far more urgent and a bit sloppier.

Cas reaches around to grasp roughly at Dean's back, trying to find leverage to grind back and then he's coming in his pants like a fucking teenager. He whimpers a bit, choking on Dean's name and only really managing to sound completely and pathetically undone.

He's still riding out the high of his orgasm when he feels Dean's hips stutter to a stop. The older man allows himself to collapse on him for a second before he pulls back and leans his weight the wall instead. "Sorry," he mutters, fingers gently rubbing along his hips, just shy of the bruises no doubt blossoming under his shirt.

"'s okay."

They catch their breath eventually. Dean's trying his best to not smile. He almost succeeds until he shifts slightly and a grimace takes over. "Ugh, I need to change."

"Me too."

"Yeah." He laughs this little chuckle that Cas wouldn't even be able to hear if they weren't so close. "Let's, uh, head back to the motel and clean up."

So they do. And maybe they ride back in silence, but when Dean leaves his hand palm up on the leather between them, Cas accepts the invitation.


	15. Chapter 15

**AN:** i apologize for a sort of late update. i was in an off mood all last week and couldn't really find the time or energy to write. i have spring break this week, so i'm really hoping to get a lot of writing in (not just for this story, but my other ones too).

so this chapter was supposed to be a mix of pwp and feels, but the porn part kinda took the bulk of my writing effort today (and i didn't even do all of what i'd plan...) so the feels will just have to wait til the next update. it's kind of a short chapter, too :/

i think realistically there are two chapters left to the story, though if there's interest in an epilogue that talks about how fucking miserable dean was for those twenty two years, i might do something along those lines (assuming you guys are interested in some angsty shit like that, omg my poor baby dean was so sad for so long in this story...)

* * *

The make their way back to the hotel in silence. It's not as awkward as Castiel would've feared, but it's still filled with all of the things left unsaid. He spends the ride enjoying this moment - the calm before the storm he's sure to come - until he stumbles as he gets out of the car. With a grimace and a groan, he's rudely reminded of the physical issues the adrenaline and high of orgasm had allowed him to ignore.

"Dammit," he mutters as he winces with each step. His knees are a mess and the bruising on his ribs is starting to lead to tenderness.

But then Dean's there, easing his weight onto his shoulders and gently leading him to their motel room. "I gotcha."

The distraction of picking shards of glass out of his knee cap seems welcome to both of them. It's a relatively mindless task for Dean, who has taken care of far worse injuries in his day. For Cas (or rather, more for Thomas, who feels corporeal things like this more than Cas ever did), it's an exercise in not flinching.

After a particularly deep piece is dug out, Dean seems to want to fill the silence. "Sorry about earlier." He pulls out another piece before dabbing away the blood. It's a great excuse not to look each other int he eyes. "About not burning the body faster, obviously, but uh... the other stuff too." Another piece of glass, followed immediately by another. Cas' toes twitch in an effort to keep his leg still. "I know you said you wanted this to be slow. But uh, that escalated a little more than I expected it to."

Dean puts down the tweezers and gauze. Finally, he looks up and Cas' heart swells at the way he nervously looks him over.

 _He thinks he's ruined things,_ Cas realizes. Of all the things that have come in the way over the years, and Dean thinks _this_ would be the thing to destroy it. The very idea pulls a chuckle out of him despite the lingering pain.

Before Dean gets the chance to feel self-conscious, Cas leans forward and kisses him.

* * *

Their relationship does a complete 180. Instead of being a friendship that slightly edged on being too physical, it become one that was almost completely physical with very little talking. A little voice in the back of his head says this isn't exactly smart. He hasn't really come to a decision, hasn't spoken to Dean about things yet, and jumping into this is great for right now but terrible in the long run.

He very much hates that voice.

But it's very easy to ignore it.

Especially when Dean's pushing him against the kitchen table and ravishing his mouth. Or in the car after a grocery run. And that time in the laundry room didn't really give him an incentive to put a stop on things either. Things don't progress much beyond that. There's some groping, but Dean seems to purposely avoid anything further.

A few days ago, Cas would have been very appreciative of that.

Today he's not.

He's not going to lie, he's been in a state of semi-arousal since Fayette. The few times he's jerked off have done nothing to take the edge off, probably because Dean and all the temptation he represents are never more than a room away. As far as he's concerned, he's either going to have to go on a long road trip solo... or get his hand on Dean's cock (or vice versa, at this point he does not care).

Like with most things, Dean's very good at avoiding things he doesn't want to talk about or do and this is no different. Already quite adept at it when Cas left twenty two years ago, he's mastered the art in the interim. So Cas' only chance is to catch him off guard.

He waits until he hears Dean start the shower, gives it another three minutes (two minutes and forty three seconds, actually, since he couldn't wait longer) before he gets the nerve to silently open the door. The room's already fogged up with steam and luckily the shower curtain's thick enough that they can't see each other. It buys Cas time to collect himself, figure out if this is something he really wants to do.

A small whimper on the other side of the curtain, the unmistakable sound of skin on skin, and he knows, just _knows_ Dean's a few feet away touching himself.

Slipping out of his boxers and shirt with more care than usual (he tries to be silent, doesn't want to give up the element of surprise just yet). He tip toes over, his own cock bobbing as he moves because _fuck_ Dean just groaned again. He takes one last deep breath to steady his nerves before pulling the curtain aside and stepping into the tub.

Neither Cas nor Thomas has ever had the opportunity to see Dean fully naked. Well, Castiel did momentarily when he re-built Dean's body, but that was before his own experiences in a human vessel had given him the necessary experience to fully appreciate it. The man before him is nothing short of breath-takingly _beautiful_.

Dean gasps as the slightly colder air hits him, turning away from the spray to look over his shoulder. His left arm is braced against the wall and his right hand doesn't stop its slow, precise movements. He just meets Cas' gaze, no real shock or annoyance at the sudden intrusion. No, the only thing Cas sees is the same _want_ he's been feeling the past few days mirrored back at him.

"Cas..."

He's not sure if it's a warning or an invitation, doesn't really care about the distinction because it's probably a mix of both. Instead he moves forward, lines his body up with Dean's and presses in. Dean makes a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, leaning back into his weight. His head falls back, exposing the line of his throat, and Cas takes full advantage.

He makes his way from the line of his jaw down to Dean's clavicle, alternating between kisses and sucking harsh bruises along the way. He slots his cock along the curve of Dean's ass, not being too invasive, just the hint of pressure. When Dean tries to buck back into the contact, he shushes him and stills his hips with both hands before reaching around to replace Dean's with his own.

Dean just gives in, lets Cas set the pace as he strokes Dean. Slowly, experimentally at first. He tries to match Dean's earlier movements, easing Dean into a rhythm before tightening his grip and speeding up. Without really noticing, he pulls Dean flush against him and grinds against him.

"Cas... stop-"

"No," he whines, but stops anyway. So close, they're so close and it just isn't fair that it's going to end-

"Just gotta-" Dean pulls away a bit before turning around. He cradles Cas' face for a moment, a tender gesture that's totally forgotten when he starts licking his way into Cas' mouth and thrusting forward. "Just wanna... oh _shit_ -" he breaks off when his erection finally meets Cas'. "Just wanna see you."

"Mmm." And then they're kissing again and moving against each other. The water makes things too slippery, no friction to be found, and Dean's breathy laugh stops him.

"Lemme..." Dean pulls back enough to get a hand between them, closing around both of them in a firm grip.

He tries to form words, honestly he does, but they seem to get caught in his throat in a moan when Dean starts jerking them off. Knowing he's not going to be saying anything coherent for a while, he settles his head in the crook of Dean's neck and warps his arms around his shoulders.

"So _good_ , fuck... You drive me so fucking crazy, you know that Cas? Wanted to get my hands on you... all fucking week. Dream about all the ways I could make you come... Kept picturing the way you looked when you came last time, so fucking gorgeous-"

Cas is just along for the ride at this point, too keyed up to do more. He's not even sure what noises he's making anymore, all his energy focused on Dean - his voice breathing into his ear, his chest pressed against his, his hand around them both. (A tiny part of Castiel, part that he can't consciously pin down anymore, thinks he can even feel Dean's soul thrumming its approval. That beautiful soul no longer reaches out for him in longing, no, its moved past that to something he can find no other word for than _joy_.)

"Dean..." That's all he manages before he feels Dean stiffen, all the filthy things he's been saying turn into a long drawn out moan as he comes between them. Dean manages to a few more strokes before he has to stop and pull away, his own cock oversensitive.

A whimper barely escapes him before Dean's on his knees, the older man gently pushing him towards the wall. With his hands firmly keeping him in place, Dean gives the head of his dick one little kiss before he swallows Cas down in one swift movement. Cas gasps, surprise making him try to back away, but the wall and Dean's grip keep him from going to far. He watches, transfixed, as Dean works up and down his cock.

Cas buries his hands in Dean's hair, not sure why, since the older man clearly doesn't need the guidance. Dean's sucking and using just a hint of teeth and _moaning_ around him and it's just too much, too good. "Dean," he warns, a half-thrust he can't quite help. "Dean-" And with a gasp he comes down Dean's throat, watching as Dean swallows him, keeps bobbing his head back and forth til there's nothing left.

When he regains his bearings, he finds himself on the ground in Dean's arms. Dean's whispering nonsense, combing his hand through his hair and kissing his cheek. "It's okay, baby, I got you."


	16. Chapter 16

**AN:** This chapter has exactly two parts: part one is PWP, part two is sadness. *whispers* aka the only two things I like to write.

It kinda sucks for me atm because my two main WIPs have my OTPs having all these issues... simply because these assholes won't talk to each other! Ugh! So I'm feeling the melancholy as I try to get them ready for fixing things and everything being all good again. But it also probably means I will be doing a couple side stories of fluff or smut to get my fix of happy OTPs.

* * *

His whole world is balanced on the head of a pin. It was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur. They hardly leave each other's arms until Dean sheepishly admits he has to go to work at some point. That gives Cas a whole day to himself, something he hasn't really had in a while (still doesn't quite have, since there are still moments where he and Thomas feel like separate entities that happen to occupy the same space) so he puts in the effort to enjoy it.

There are simple joys in life, ones that he's been neglecting. The smell of fresh sheets is the reward he gets for finally doing some laundry. The release of tension in his neck and upper back when he takes a bubble bath are another perk. And when he goes to enjoy lunch, the near bare pantry and fridge give him more opportunity to find those little pleasures he's been missing.

Bright skies and chilly air accompany him on his walk to the grocery store. With winter fast approaching, it's truth be told too cold to fully enjoy the trip. But he's always enjoyed the feeling of cool air filling his lungs, and the physical activity helps center him. He buys only enough to make himself lunch and to cook dinner for the two of them that evening. Any more would require the car and another trip.

He's planning out the meal - chicken curry with fresh naan - when he opens the front door to the house.

And is almost immediately greeted by a moan coming from the living room.

Cas barely registers closing the door and putting down the grocery bags before he follows the sound of skin on skin and heavy breathing. There's not much to see right now, just Dean leaning over one edge of the couch, but the _noises_ are divine. He swallows audibly as he inches closer, moving around to get a better view.

Dean looks absolutely _exquisite_ , sprawled out on the couch and naked but for his tented boxers. His eyes are closed as he palms his cock, fingers dipping to tease his balls before his hand moves back up to the waistband and slips inside to stroke himself.

It's no surprise that he feels his own dick stir to life, almost already fully hard as he watches in awe. "Dean," he whispers because he feels he needs to let the older man know he's there. (Though how could he have not heard the door? He _must_ have, he must know- Cas can't help but groan, thinking of Dean planning this out, planning to be caught and knowing full well that he's _watching_ him right now.)

Immediately his eyes open and he smiles brightly. "Hey." He bites his bottom lip as he picks up the pace for a few strokes before slowing down to something more lazy, only meant to maintain his arousal. It is possibly the hottest thing Cas has ever seen. "You weren't here... hope you don't mind that I got started without you?"

He has just enough brain cells functioning at the moment to scoff at him. The man knows damn well what he's doing. Not so subtly he moves to readjust himself in his tight jeans. While he does so, he maintains eye contact and asks, "Do you plan on having all the fun yourself or do I get to join in?"

A flirtatious smile broadens into a full on grin. "I think we could work something out."

Slowly he pulls off his jacket and lays it on a nearby chair. Then he starts on his boots, his shirts, but leaves on his jeans. The whole time Dean just watches, jacking himself off at that slow rhythm all the while. "What did you have in mind, Dean?"

He goes through all the things they've done recently. The kissing, the handjobs, the blowjobs, the rutting against each other until they can't stand it anymore and come in their boxers. All of them were amazing and he finds he's more than eager to see what they'll be getting up to this time.

"Well," and then he flushes. Which is strange, Dean has never been nervous before. Not with any of this, anyway. "I was kinda hoping... you'd fuck me."

His brain really does seem to shut down at hearing that. All higher functioning stops as his dick twitches in agreement. Because _yes_.

"Cas?"

He snaps back to attention, trying not to look to eager as he starts to unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants and he actually needs to take a breath to slow down because he just tried to take off his jeans without unbuttoning them.

Dean, mercifully, doesn't comment. Instead he just hooks his fingers in his boxers and takes them off with a mischievous grin. "That a yes?" The way he looks in that moment is utterly _obscene_.

Once he finally sheds the last of his clothes, he groans at the sight of Dean Winchester laid out on his couch like a fucking feast just for him. The fact that he's naked and _waiting_ for him to fuck him...

"You just gonna look or you ever gonna come over here and-"

"Lube," he interrupts. Because the end of that sentence will probably only make his grasp on the situation all the more tenuous.

Dean chuckles a bit, lazily stroking himself as he watches Cas try to remain calm. "Front pocket of my jeans," he says with a wink.

"You keep lube in your pocket?"

"Fuck, Cas, you've had me on edge since the moment you walked in that fucking door. _Yes_ I keep lube in my goddamn jeans."

With all the patience he can summon, he finds Dean's pants under the coffee table and digs out the small bottle of lube. As he's turning around in triumph, he feels strong arms pulling him down. Even so, the kiss takes him by surprise, all burning heat with just the undertones of the gentleness he's used to.

He fumbles a bit with the bottle before he's able to get some lube out. His fingers tentatively move down to tease Dean's rim, but his hand shakes a little. It's not that he hasn't had sex before, but he's never really been put in charge like this. Never had to open himself or his partner up, and he can't help the nervous flutter in his chest.

Dean must sense his distress, because a hand comes to guide his. "Shh, you're doing great, sweetheart."

There's a moment where he feels silly, that Dean shouldn't be the one soothing him right now, but the thought is gone as soon as he's pulled in for another kiss. Then another and another. He's so distracted his finger moves almost mechanically, a second one urged in by Dean.

It's not until he goes a bit deeper that he must graze Dean's prostate, if his appreciative groan is anything to go by. "Yeah, just like that baby."

The nervousness fizzles out after that, nothing but the desire to be inside Dean _right now_. Enthusiasm takes over and he starts rubbing his neglected cock against Dean's thigh. Soon two fingers are replaced with three, then he's pulling them out and slicking himself up.

The couch is barely big enough for the two of them when they're watching tv together, certainly not designed for two grown men. That's never been more apparent as he tries to shift Dean's legs and find a decent angle. They move around until they find one that seems promising, one of Dean's legs hanging over the edge of the couch, the other hooked over the back. Cas lifts his hips a bit to line himself up before slowly pushing in.

He moves as slowly as he can, whimpering because it feels _so good_ but his legs twitch from the effort. The strain of holding himself back is tortuous at best, but he manages to hold his self-control until he mercifully feels himself bottom out. And maybe it's good that he has to wait a moment for Dean to adjust, because he needs to calm down, gather himself or he'll be totally lost in a whirl of _Dean Dean Dean_.

"You can move," Dean whispers in his ear, clenching down to emphasize the point. "C'mon sweetheart, fuck me real good."

" _Dean_ ," he chokes out but his body is already starting to obey. The first few thrusts are shallow. Eventually he pulls out a bit more, then more, until he's _so close_ to sliding out completely each time he pumps his hips. Once he's got a handle on that, he picks up the pace until soon he's slamming into Dean.

For his part, Dean seems content to let Cas take the lead. His hands roam his back, his ass, neck, everything he can reach. One handle settles on his own cock, the other cradles his face. "So good for me, always so good for me, keep going baby." A moan cuts him off and then he's right back to praising him. "Fuck me so good, baby, can't wait to feel you come in me, please come in me, Cas, need you to."

Dean Winchester has a filthy fucking mouth.

He loves it.

The burn in his thighs is familiar, a warning that he can't keep this up for long. Not that he thinks he'll need to, he's so fucking close. All he needs is something to set him off, just a little push and he'll be gone.

He braces himself on his arms, looks down to watch Dean jerking himself off as his cock slides in and out. "Dean, oh _fuck_ , Dean-"

"It's okay, baby, come for me."

And _fuck_ , he does. He's too caught up in his own orgasm, jerky thrusts as he finishes, that he barely notices Dean arching into him or the warm wetness that hits his chest. It's just too good, too much for him to take it all in.

When he does regain some semblance of coherence, he finds himself in Dean's warm embrace. The older man's fingers gently massage at his back and run through his hair, tender kisses peppered along his face. He allows himself to soak it in, to enjoy the whispered endearments. He's almost drifted off when he hears Dean's satisfied yawn and a content, "Mmmm I love you."

And as he lays there in Dean's arms, it shouldn't break him to hear those words. It should make his heart soar. But... there's this feeling nagging him that there's something _wrong_.

* * *

The tipping point comes slowly after that. He fan fill it shifting, ever so slightly, with each passing hour. He can't shake the feeling that everything is about to go spiraling out of control (-that it already has-).

He's irritable and he knows it. The first couple of times he sounds peeved with Dean, he doesn't seem to mind. Then comes the snapping at seemingly benign comments. Although he still doesn't comment, the concern on Dean's face says it all. But it's not until the next afternoon that it finally happens.

And there's nothing really to set it off. Just Dean casually reaching to give his shoulder a little squeeze as he walks by him in the kitchen. It's happened a hundred times before. But this time is different. This time, as Dean's fingers just start to graze his sweater, he pulls away from the contact.

Dean's hand freezes in midair.

All the other things he might have been able to ignore. The tense silences and his apparent need to start an argument at every little thing. But this is a million red flags to both of them, cementing in their minds that something is wrong, something is broken.

"Cas," Dean begs, looks like he still wants to reach forward but scared to.

"Thomas," he corrects automatically.

That's when it clicks into place for him. When he realizes what's wrong and why he's angry and can't quite stand to be around Dean right now. Because fuck... If Dean loves Cas, wants _Cas_ , where does that leave the part of him that's _not_ Cas?

It's like a slap in the face. He can see exactly when Dean registers what's happening because the only emotion he sees cross his face is despair before it becomes an impassive, blank canvas.

"Thomas," he concedes, but his voice is a little more formal now. Like he doesn't know who or what he's dealing with anymore. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." It's not a very good lie, so he corrects it. "Everything."

Dean sighs, finally lowering his hand. "Tell me what I can do-"

"You've done enough, Dean."

Shoulders slump in defeat and green eyes that won't meet his right now. "I'm sorry." And it's so sincere it almost breaks his heart.

Because he knows deep down, even if he doesn't really want to touch the idea, that this is all his fault. That the identity crisis he's been struggling with for months is merely a new thread to the way he's felt his whole life. Dean might have triggered something new, but he's the one who's at a loss as to how to deal with it. He's the one who told Dean he was comfortable being Castiel, when maybe he wasn't yet. Sure he confided in the hunter, but not fully.

But of course he doesn't say any of it. Takes a page out of Dean's playbook and stuffs it down to process later (or ignore completely).

What he does say is probably going to rip him to pieces later when he's got a better grip on the situation.

"I have to go." He starts heading out to the garage.

"Thomas, wait-"

He pulls away, shrinking back from the older man as he moves to block his path. Dean stops immediately, hands up in surrender. "I just don't think you should be driving right now," he whispers. "I'll, uh... I'll go," he offers.

Not giving him a chance to respond, he grabs his keys from the hook by the door. With one final sad look shot his way, Dean's gone.

He wants to cry. He wants to go up to his room and curl up in a ball and pretend this didn't happen. But he can't. He needs to do what he should have done weeks ago.

Decision made, he heads upstairs. With shaking hands he packs a duffel bag. Within an hour he's on the road, heading straight to his parents' place.


	17. Chapter 17

**AN:** Apologies in advance for the overabundance of pronouns in this chapter. Thomas/Cas is having some identity issues, plus with him being with Thomas' family this chapter *I'm* not entirely sure which half of him is stronger at this particular juncture, so I very much doubt *he* knows. Also I never actually named anyone in his family (whoops) and I'm not gonna start now, so his sister is just gonna be nameless!

(I do feel kinda bad about that, she's super important to helping Cas get his head on straight.)

I also had someone comment about how Anna didn't really have an identity crisis when she found out she was an angel again. In regards to that - if I remember correctly (and I'm not gonna lie, I might not), Anna did have a mental breakdown after she heard Cas calling out. And Anna's family died shortly after the Winchesters appeared on the scene, and I feel like her parents would have been her last real hold on her life as Anna Milton. After that, and especially when she gets her grace back, it's all angel.

Thomas/Cas is sorta having that mental breakdown (on a smaller scale), but Thomas' family and life are still around to keep that part of him relevant. He also doesn't have his grace, so there's no angel mojo that's trying to override his human side. At least that's where I'm coming from on why he's still very much both people. He's just going to have to maybe figure out a way to meld those different sides a bit better than he has.

* * *

He should have left a note, he realizes belatedly. It's about two hours into his drive and he just sighs because it's too late to do anything about it now.

( _No it's not, you can text him._

 _He doesn't want to hear from me right now._

 _He's going to worry that something happened to you._

 _He knows I just need space._

 _You already dropped off the face of the planet once. Why would you do that to him again?_

There was no answering that one with anything but guilt, so he ignores the question altogether.)

* * *

When he opens the door to his parents' place (and when did it stop feeling like home?), the wind's nearly knocked out of him. His sister clings to him, stepping on his shoes because that's the only way to make her even close to his height, and he's forced to drop his bag in an attempt to keep his balance.

"What are you doing-"

"You came!" she squeals, hugging him tighter. "Early, even!" She finally lets him go and her smile is beautiful in how bright it is. Until she sees his confusion, and then her smile drops and frown lines appear.

"Came for what?" he asks dumbly, and it just seems to confirm something to her because a pout is spreading.

"Christmas. Christmas is in a few days."

"Oh." Is it? He really needs to keep better track of this sort of thing.

The pout quickly changes into something else, too fast for him to really catalog. "If you're not here for Christmas-"

Thankfully she's cut off by the surprised shouts of his parents. He's being hugged again, though not nearly as tightly, and ushered into the kitchen for food. Some of his cousins are there, and he's saved from needing to deal with his sister's questions.

Because that would mean actually knowing the answers, and he's a long way from there.

* * *

There's enough family activities going on that he manages to avoid being cornered by his sister. His old room has already been commandeered by his aunt and uncle, and he ends up having to share the basement with one of his cousins. His sister offered to share her room, but that was a disaster waiting to happen. He'll take the snoring cousin over the nosy sister.

It works out pretty well until Christmas Eve. And even then, it's only because he makes the mistake of drinking too much egg nog. Egg nog might be disgusting, but he's not in a position to be picky about what he drinks.

Anything to make him stop thinking about Dean. Which would probably be a lot easier if everything weren't so fucking _green_ during Christmas. The tree, the decorations, even the cookies his dad made. Half the presents are wrapped in this green and red paper that his parents have probably had lying around since he was in middle school because they bought it in bulk.

He's too busy drinking and moping that he doesn't really notice when she sits down next to him on the big fluffy couch in the corner of the living room. Everyone's watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ , which is fucking annoying because he knows how this movie ends and a happy ending with an angel named Clarence helping save the day is the last thing he needs right now.

His sister's patient, waits until he's pretty much forgotten she's there, when she nudges him with her elbow. "How're you feeling?"

He grunts in reply and takes another sip. Awful.

"That's not an answer."

"Really feels like it is," he mutters.

"Okay." She keeps her eyes on the TV and her voice down so no one will overhear them. "Wanna talk about it?"

His dramatic eye roll goes unnoticed since, duh, she's not looking at him, so eventually has to say, "Not really."

Reaching over to the coffee table, she grabs one of the bowls of popcorn and starts eating. The whole time she keeps watching the movie. "How 'bout," she says over a mouthful, "If I can guess the problem, you gotta tell me I'm right."

He takes a moment to consider. The last thing he wants to do is talk about things because he doesn't even really know how to say what's wrong. It's a series of insecurities that have settled deep under his skin that he can't quite name, but are there and alive nonetheless. So without even knowing what the problem is himself, he doubts his sister will really be able to figure it out.

"Sure." Because honestly what's the worst that could happen?

"Is there something wrong with your car?"

"Seriously?"

"Hey, I gotta start somewhere. You talked about how you'd fixed it up a bit when you were here last month - I figured it was possible."

"It's not the car."

"Okay," she says with a shrug. He expects her to immediately ask another question, but instead she watches the movie some more. "You having job problems?"

He doesn't have a job but at the moment it doesn't matter. Even if it did, he doubts it would cause him any real distress. So he shakes his head.

"Any issues with your living situation?"

"Issues with my living situation?" he repeats, a little dumbfounded.

"Dude, I don't even know _where_ you live anymore. I don't know if you've got an apartment, a roommate, a trailer, or if you're just living out the back of your car. So whatever's going on, are there any issues with it?"

That takes a moment to consider. This is probably going to be more problematic than the job thing. If he stays with... (his mind skirts around thinking the name) then things will be rough. But if he leaves, well, he'll just go back to hunting and he's done that for years. For now, he'd probably be fine living out of motels. So he just shrugs.

There's a second where it seems like she's going to press in on that. "Are you lonely?"

There are basically two people in his head. No, he's not lonely and he's not even sure it's possible for him to be lonely. Knowing about Castiel has alleviated a lot of the loneliness he experienced as a child.

( _Or is it because you found De-_

He cuts off that line of thinking because he knows where it goes and he doesn't need that right now.)

"I'll be right back," she says solemnly before disappearing for a few minutes. He finds himself a little disappointed. Damn, he got his hopes up that she might actually help. But his sister plops back down next to him and hands him a beer (but not before taking a big gulp of it herself - he really should scold her since she's underage, but oh well) and starts sipping a soda.

Instead of drinking it though, he just sorta plays with it in his hands. No more questions come for a while, and he eventually downs half the beer just to ease his nerves.

Which is apparently what his sister was waiting for, because she almost instantly asks, "Is it girl trouble?"

His mistake is he snorts at that. It's just so... ridiculous. Not that he doesn't like girls. But he's been in so deep with Dean for a while now, he hasn't thought about girls for months.

"... Is it boy trouble?"

This time he chokes a bit, which is even more telling since he's not even eating or drinking anything at the moment. If he boils down all his troubles to one thing, one thing that set him off on the road and out of Lawrence, then yeah it's "boy trouble."

"Oh my god, Thomas-" She's finally looking at him, he can feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. He won't turn to meet the stare.

But he will finish the beer.

"What's going on?" she hisses. But then she seems to remember the rules of their little game. "Are you seeing someone?"

"Sort of."

Out of the corner of his eye, she sees her eyes narrow at him. "Did he break up with you?"

He shakes his head.

"Did you break up with him?"

He frowns. Did he? He thinks about how he left, taking all his stuff without a word and just disappearing. Doesn't even know if he plans on going back. All he wants to do is hide here in limbo, where he doesn't have to choose because this is safer. But objectively, it seems there's an answer. "I think I did."

"Are you happy about that?"

"No," he says instantly. There's no way he can even lie about that. He was unsure and anxious about the whole thing while he was there (even if he did a good job ignoring it), but now he's just plain miserable.

"Do you want him back?" He starts to shrug but she points a finger at him, "No, you don't get out of this one. Do you want him back, yes or no? No thinking about it or wondering if it's possible. Just the first thought that comes to mind - yes or no?"

"Yes."

Satisfied, she stops pointing her finger. "Okay. Would he take you back?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. We can talk about that part later." _We can fix it,_ is the underlying promise. "Is he good to you?"

He laughs a little at that. Dean (and yes, he finally lets himself think the name) has been extraordinarily patient with him. Both before and after the more physical aspects of their relationship, he'd never felt more cared for than when he was in Lawrence. And maybe he's laughing at the idea that his little sister would probably go straight to Dean's place to kick his ass if she thought he'd done anything.

"Yes, he's very good."

"Well," she sighs, "I don't know why you broke up with him then. Did you have a fight?"

"Yes."

"Was it a fight worth having?"

"Yes." Who he is is important, right? But then he frowns. Dean knows who he is, has been very good about addressing both Castiel and Thomas. That's not the issue. He quickly thinks over the argument, realizes they didn't really say all that much. "No. I- I don't know if we were actually fighting about the right thing..."

"But there is something you need to talk about?"

"Yes." And he likes that she said 'talk' instead of 'fight'. The idea of a shouting match with Dean sounds awful, in no small part because he feels it would just be him shouting and Dean taking it.

(Oh how it used to be different. How he used to be the millenia old celestial being, experienced and knowing and patient. How he would allow the human, nothing but a child in comparison to himself, lash out at him with his words. How Dean would scream himself hoarse sometimes and how little it would actually do to make him feel better.)

"Do you think he'd be willing to have that talk?"

"I think so," he says carefully. Yes, Dean will talk to him, he's certain of that. But the idea of actually being able to _fix_ things, that seems far fetched. Dean has been understanding thus far, so yes, he will listen and talk this out. But it doesn't mean that he's willing to keep up a relationship, friendship or otherwise, after this.

"So...?"

"So?" And now he finally looks at his sister, his little sister with the big heart who has always been on his side. Who is still on his side. Who would probably love Castiel just as much as Thomas if she got the chance, because she's always accepted every part of him since they were children. So he looks at her, waiting breathlessly for the solution to the problem.

"So... why are you here?"

His brain shuts down as it processes that. Then he's jumping off the sofa and sprinting down the basement steps two at a time, his sister running behind him.

"Need help?" she asks as he starts shoving things back into his duffel bag.

"I think I have some clothes in the dryer if you could-"

"Yep."

In his rush, he's fully ready to jump right in his car and take off, but after packing his sister firmly grabs his arm and makes him sit next to her on the futon bed. "You're drunk, you gotta wait a bit."

"I'm not drunk," he huffs. He certainly _feels_ sober, but that's probably just the adrenaline in his system. With a sigh, he gives in and falls backward. It probably wouldn't hurt to wait, especially since he's pretty sure he'll be flooring it the whole way back to Kansas.

She lays down next to him. "Sure you're not." She pats his arm gently. "Let's give it an hour or two though, okay?"

He grumbles something incomprehensible, something that may sound suspiciously like agreement.

"What's his name?"

"Dean."

"He your type?" she nudges him in the side and he can just _hear_ the teasing smile and suggestive eyebrow waggling. Dirty blond with green eyes, she'd once explained to him. His type.

"Dean is probably _the definition_ of 'my type.'"

"Nice."

"He, uh... he's a little older than me-"

"How old?" No judgement, just curiosity.

"58." He holds his breath while he waits.

"Hmm. Didn't think that was your thing." She shrugs, which is a little awkward since they're lying down staring at the ceiling. "And just so you know, three and a half decades does not qualify as 'a little older.'"

"Do you think Mom and Dad will mind?"

"Thomas, if you love the guy they're not gonna have an issue with him."

He very deliberately ignores the L word. Sure, he feels it. Has felt it for some time. But not knowing how Dean would react to that knowledge... Well, that's part of the problem, isn't it?

They talk for a while. About Dean, his family and his job and his house in Lawrence. His sister seems surprised, both by how much he seems to know and how fondly he speaks of the older man. She forgives him for losing track of Thanksgiving and Christmas, silently acknowledging that falling in love sometimes takes precedence.

When he there's nothing left but the faintest tingle of alcohol running through his veins, he heads out. He hugs his sister good-bye before sneaking out the garage. She promises to make excuses for him (or explain things - he's left the choice up to her). Doing it himself would slow him down and make him feel guilty for ignoring his family's confusion and requests that he stay.

Once he starts the car, he takes a quick look in the rear view mirror and then he's gone.

Time to fix what he broke.

* * *

 **AN:** At this point, I think I have one full chapter left plus an epilogue / timestamp. The epilogue will be a brief look into the future, the timestamp would address how Dean spent the time after Cas' disappearance and before Thomas showed up on his doorstep.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN:** I hope everyone's happy about the update - I haven't done a destiel oneshot in almost a month and I chose to do this instead! Just teasing - I've actually had a good portion of this chapter done for a bit because *finally* something *good* gets to happen. Enjoy ;)

* * *

From his parents' place to Dean's, it's a good 6 hour drive.

He makes it in four and a half. It's Christmas Eve, middle of the night, no one's driving anywhere. Even the cops seem to have neglected to come out and catch drunk drivers and speeders (though thankfully he only falls into one of those categories).

When Cas pulls into the driveway and lets himself into the garage with his key, he's surprised to find the Impala gone. Disappointment spreads through him but then he remembers that, duh, it's Christmas. Dean spent Thanksgiving with Sam's family and with no one to keep him here for the holidays, it only makes sense he'd leave.

His shoulders sag as he wanders into the kitchen, wondering what to do with himself. How long will Dean be gone? Surely not more than a few days... unless he thinks there's no reason to come back. That Cas won't be there, and if he's taking it badly maybe he'll stay where his brother's support is readily available.

Turning on the light, he freezes.

Dean is something of a neat freak. Not terrible about it, but he takes pride in his home and space, which means keeping things if not pristine than at least orderly. Which is why Cas' concern grows by leaps and bounds as his eyes wander over empty beer cans and liquor bottles that litter the table, counter tops, and even a few places on the floor.

 _So he's been drinking, and it's my fault._

He kicks the nearest bear bottle in some mix of frustration and guilt because _he did this_. Fuck, there's a lot of alcohol here. In the entire time he's been living with Dean, he's only seen the older man get drunk once, maybe twice. And here's a whole liquor store full of booze, all of it empty.

Worse yet, he sees papers underneath an empty six pack on the kitchen table. Mind numb, he pushes it aside so he can get a better look. A map, news articles printed from a website, and notes jotted hastily on a post-it in Dean's handwriting.

 _Vamp nest  
North Dakota  
10-15 vamps?  
5 reported deaths  
contact Sheriff Rollings_

Oh god, what if that's where Dean is now? If in a drunken haze he'd planned out a seriously dangerous hunt to take his mind off of Cas being an asshole. Before he can start to hyperventilate, he tries to find a thread of reason to hold onto to keep his panic at bay.

No, Dean wouldn't have gone on that hunt. Not without his notes. No, he's just planning it. He wouldn't go before Christmas, before seeing Sam and his sister-in-law and niece. He's safe. He _has_ to be.

Still feeling a little sick, Castiel moves through the house in a daze. He finds himself in Dean's room. The bed unmade, laundry on the floor, it doesn't look at all the way he last saw it. All of a sudden a wave of exhaustion makes him want to get into bed and never crawl back out again.

He leans down to grab one of Dean's sweatshirts and pulls it on as he climbs into bed. Dean's in Wyoming, there's no reason not to indulge in this. To wrap himself in his scent and let it comfort him as he drifts off to sleep.

Which is of course where he is when Dean finds him a few hours later.

* * *

He's being shaken awake and it takes him too long to realize there shouldn't be anyone else here. With a start he nearly falls out of the bed, cursing himself because _hunters don't let people sneak up on them!_

"Jesus, kid, calm down. It's just me!"

"Dean?" he gasps, looking up in the dim glow of the alarm clock. Yes, definitely Dean. And definitely not in Wyoming with Sam. He stares at him in shock for long enough that Dean coughs and gestures for him to follow.

"Let's go downstairs and talk."

Dean's out the door before he can process the request. He rushes to his feet and follows him to the kitchen. Neutral territory, he supposes, and probably a good idea.

The evidence of Dean's drinking is still everywhere and Cas can't help but stare at it. Looking at it now, it seems obvious that Dean didn't leave. There's too much for him to have drank it all before going on a road trip.

Seeming to notice the way his thoughts are tending, Dean interrupts by sheepishly starting to clean up. "I uh- I wasn't expecting you back so soon..."

"Were you?" A pause. "Expecting me back?"

A deep breath. "No, not really."

It stings a little to hear it, but he shouldn't be surprised. He'd left without word and has a track record of disappearing on Dean. Guilt wants to choke him, babble out apologies and beg for forgiveness, but there things that they need to talk about first.

"I realize now that I didn't do a good job of articulating exactly what the problem is."

"No," Dean agrees. "No you did not." He's finished dumping the cans and bottles in the recycling bin and takes a seat at the table, carefully putting the case notes into a folder. He gestures towards the empty seat next to him, an invitation not just to sit down but to go ahead and voice his concerns.

Grateful to be given the chance, he quickly takes a seat. There's no dancing around it, no easy way into it, so he just cuts to the heart of the matter. "I guess I'm just worried if you- if you care about me. _Me_ me. Thomas me." He pauses a second. "And Castiel me, too. But both of us, equally, for who we each are apart and together. Because if you just want me to replace Cas, I- I can't do that."

Dean stares at him blankly. He doesn't react, doesn't blink, might not even breathe. Just as he's starting to become concerned, Dean's face breaks into a smile and he starts laughing. Outright _laughing_ to the point where he's about to double over. "Oh man, I- I gotta say, that's a fucking _relief_." He chuckles a bit more, tries to get it under control before continuing. "I thought it was gonna be something more serious."

"Dean!" He's on the edge of being _extremely_ mad, he can feel it building up in his chest. "This is _serious_! This is this is _important_ to me, I can't believe you'd-"

"Whoa whoa, hold your horses, kid." The laughter's died down, though the amusement's still lighting up his eyes. It's beautiful, actually, but he's angry enough that he ignores the thought. Dean schools his face into something much more serious. "Let me talk for a minute, okay?"

He huffs a bit at being called "kid" but lets it slide when he realizes he is actually _pouting_. Yeah, so maybe there's something to that right now.

"I uh- I went through some stuff, back when Cas disappeared. Obviously."

Dean's too lost in himself, in those years long gone, to notice the way he winces at hearing that. Castiel knew when he tore out his grace that it would leave questions unanswered for the Winchesters. He just didn't anticipate how profoundly affected Dean would be.

"But I dealt with it. Eventually, anyway. I always... Maybe I always kinda thought he might come back. But I'm not gonna lie. I... didn't really have much hope left. Yeah, there was some, but... I'd made my peace with Cas being gone a long time ago." He lets out this ghost of a laugh. "Then you knocked on my door and kinda blew that outta the water."

Dean pauses, like he expects Cas to say something. He doesn't, so Dean just continues.

"You- You seemed like Cas. But not? I don't really know how to describe it. And then you said you _weren't_ Cas, so I just..." He shrugs. "So I didn't think of you as Cas. You were Thomas, the kid who taught himself to hunt and who likes to cook and who's actually not bad at fixing a car, once you know what you're doing."

He smiles fondly, which is strange. That's a smile he's seen before. The one saved for when Dean would tell stories about Castiel, reminisce about his lost friend. Not one for Thomas.

Finally, Dean looks him in the eyes. Holds his gaze as he says, "I felt something for you, and it took me a while to figure out it wasn't related to you maybe being Cas. You have any fucking idea how guilty I felt about that? The first time I'd actually _truly_ thought about moving on with someone else, permanently, since Cas disappeared?"

His heart is beating too quickly, especially since it feels like his blood has stopped flowing altogether. Dean... cares about him

"And then you go and tell me, 'Oh, never mind Dean. Cute, adorkable Thomas? Nope, he's gone. Totally Cas.' And _then_ you tell me after that, 'Wait no, definitely Thomas. Forget Cas.' And you _left_ , dude. Talk about some emotional fucking whiplash."

Dean sighs heavily. He runs his hands roughly through his hair. "I- I guess what I mean is, I love you. I love Castiel, Angel of the Lord. I love Thomas, kid from Iowa. I would probably fall in love with each and every version of you that would ever be born. Guy, girl, a fucking porcupine, probably. Whatever."

Thomas is speechless. Cas is speechless. There is nothing but mutual awe that this man could love -him- them individually, together, in any way, shape, or form he was allowed to. He barely hears what Dean says next.

"But that's me. I thought maybe... But then you left and- And I guess I'm wondering if this is about _me_ or- Or maybe about who I used to be. I'm not the same person I was-"

" _Dean-_ "

"I'm not. The fact that we're even having this conversation proves that I'm not. So if you're looking for the Dean Winchester who got pulled outta hell and spent years chasing his brother around to keep him out of trouble... that's not me anymore."

It takes him probably longer than it should to digest everything Dean's just said. To fully comprehend that he's not alone in his insecurities and fears. He's quiet so long that he starts to notice Dean shutting down more and more before his eyes. Well, he'll have to fix that.

"You think because you're older, because you've changed... that if I notice you've changed, I might not like it? That I might lose interest because you're not the man you once were?"

Dean's barely perceptible nod is the only indication that he's even listening.

He gets up, kneels in front of Dean. Carefully, he cradles Dean's face in both hands. Rubs a thumb along his cheek and sees eyes struggling to hold back tears. It very much reminds him of a barn many years ago and a man who didn't believe he deserved to be saved. "I would love you in any form I could ever take. Guy, girl, or porcupine."

And then they're kissing, and it almost feels like it's the first time. They're on the same page at last, both all here and accounted for. Their lips move together and it's _heaven_ , everything he's ever wanted even before he knew he wanted it. When they pull back, he can feel the stupid grin on his face.

"You love me, Cas?"

The mood has shifted from the heavy, somberness of earlier. Enough that he feels he can tease Dean. "I might."

"You love me, Thomas?"

"I might."

Castiel remembers quite vividly the beauty of Dean's soul. It lit Hell up so brightly, called to him from across the battlefield. All of Hell's efforts to tarnish it had nothing but dim it somewhat, something he didn't learn until months later when the pain of his time there started to fade. It's a silent regret of his, the only regret he truly has about no longer being an angel, that he will never see that soul in all its majesty ever again.

The smile lighting up Dean's face at that moment is a thousand times more beautiful.

And it's _his_.

* * *

 **AN:** This is technically the last chapter. I'll be writing a timestamp for dean's time without cas/thomas and a mini-epilogue. Depending on how long those end up being, they may be posted together. We'll see :) Thanks for sticking with me through this story (though I know not done posting, still wanted to say it!) - thanks for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, all of it. I really appreciate it! 3


	19. Chapter 19

**AN:** This is a timestamp briefly covering Dean's time between Cas disappearing and Thomas showing up on his doorstep. All that's left now is a short epilogue of some of the things that happen after the last chapter. So basically this addition is kinda depressing, the next one will be super fluffy.

* * *

He starts off pissed, probably because that's one of his default emotions. Pissed and indignant because _Cas always does this shit_. Just fucking disappears out of the blue for long periods of time without a word. Doesn't answer prayers or his damn phone, makes Dean worry sick about him.

And yeah, he'll come back and have a decent excuse. The angel dickbags who run things in heaven needed his help. And _of course_ he just does what they ask. Cas is just too nice of a guy and too _good_ to just tell them to fuck off. Dean's _this close_ to offering to do it for him, to tell all his brothers and sisters where to shove it if they ever thinking about asking for Cas' help again.

So yeah, Dean's pissed off for a while. It's easier to be angry than acknowledge that he just misses his friend. And yeah, it makes him kind of a dick to people for a bit. He can't help how much he snaps at Sam, or the rude way he brushes off the chicks that flirt with him at the bar, or the dismissive tone he has for most of the people he encounters on hunts. He's just a little preoccupied, is all.

The longer Cas is gone though, the more the rage in his gut twists into something more uncomfortable. Yeah, Cas disappears for long stretches at a time, but this is just _too_ long. He would've sent word by now, in some small way. All Dean can feel is worry. A deep, unending worry that festers like an open wound.

Until it boils over and that mix of worry/anger/ _need_ drives him nearly crazy. Sam can't do much to stop him, knows his brother is losing it, but tries his best to direct that neurotic energy somewhere useful. And well, let's just say there just aren't enough vamps, werewolves and ghouls in the continental United States to vent his frustration. Hell, he's even considering hopping the border just to find some more hunts.

Nearly a year goes by and Dean kind of snaps. Breaking point reached, he can't hide behind useless hunts anymore. Something is seriously wrong and he's got in his mind that he's going to fix it. (It still hasn't occurred to him that it might be _too late_ to fix it, that whatever happened is long over and at best he'll be able to find out what it was and just deal with the consequences.) Then it's Purgatory all over again.

He tries summoning angels, but they won't talk. Then he goes for demons, but they won't deal. There are pagan gods and other spirits, creatures that might know something but they all refuse to help. (Or at least, that's how Dean sees it. He doesn't have it in him to consider that maybe they simply _can't_.)

When Sam finally sits him down and tells him that maybe they'll just never find out what happened to Cas, that it's a mystery that'll never be solved... All things considered, Sam thinks his brother takes it rather well.

There's a cold, "Yeah, maybe you're right Sammy." And a pat on his shoulder to signal that it was a "good talk."

Then it's Dean's turn to disappear. Not hunting this time, no, because much as Dean hates to admit it, Sam _is_ right. He's followed every lead on Cas and nadda. Not even a rumor about what happened to the angel. (Well, aside from the whispered warnings among the supernatural to stay the fuck away from Dean Winchester if you can help it - his hunt for the angel will destroy everything in its path. They ain't exactly wrong.)

So he just gets in the Impala and hopes to out drive his pain.

He drinks. Obviously. A lot. This isn't like when Cas, filled to the brim with Leviathan, walked into that lake. That was pretty fucking bad and Dean did his fair share of drinking over it. But there'd been a certain finality about it. He _knew_ what had happened to Cas (or at least he thought he did, but his false assumption at least gave him leave to mourn). This not knowing, the complete lack of an ending burns something fierce.

Cas might be out there, right now, _needing_ him and he can't do shit about it.

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he hung up his wings, retired to some beach somewhere and couldn't care less about the rest of them anymore.

Or maybe he's dead.

No. He doesn't let himself think that last one.

So he drinks and drinks and drinks. Hopes he can at least numb the ache in his chest. And he sleeps around. Side effect of the drinking, he tells himself. Not that he's trying to fill the hole in his heart with meaningless one night stands. He's not an idiot, he knows that's not going to work. But they do serve as a decent distraction, something to occupy his mind and his time as he tries desperately to cope.

Sam, poor, understanding, loving Sam, gives him a couple months to dick around. ( _Haha, get it Cas? Dick around? You up there listening, buddy? It's funny, I swear. It's really fucking funny. Come back and I'll explain it to you._ ) His brother finds him passed out in some alley behind a bar. Drags him to his motel room and waits for him to sober up. Dean expected yelling or at least a lecture, but the pity in Sam's eyes is somehow so much _worse_.

The drive back to the bunker is awful. He lets Sam take the wheel while he sulks in the passenger seat, curled in on himself and trying to ignore his hangover.

"You can't do this anymore, Dean. I know it sucks, but you gotta find a way to move past this."

They don't talk about it for a while. Actually, Dean will never admit it to anyone, but it only ever comes up one more time after that. The next September 18th, Sam finds his brother sobbing in a corner of his room. Nearly trips over an empty bottle of Jack Daniels before he's hugging him. Dean's so past caring in that moment that he lets it happen, lets his little brother hold him while he cries over his lost best friend and whimpers about how he misses him _so fucking much_ and _why can't he just come back_.

"I don't know," is all Sam can offer.

But aside from that, they don't dwell on the past. Just like they don't bring up their other fallen friends, whatever did or didn't happen to Cas stops being a topic of conversation. They have to focus on the future, on those that are still alive (scant though their numbers might be).

It takes some time, but he starts to get over it. He'll always qualify that he's not _over_ missing Cas. He'll always miss Cas. And he's pretty sure part of him will always hold out just a small thread of hope that he'll see the angel again. But he gets over feeling like shit about it. The guilt that he didn't do enough to save him (assuming he needed saving). The raw pain of uncertainty.

Slowly but surely, he picks himself up and moves on.

He starts working with other hunters. Tries to get a network like Bobby's up and running. Sam sees it for what it is - a project that makes him feel useful and more importantly occupies a shit ton of his time - and enthusiastically does what he can to help. The bunker eventually gets turned over to a new order of Men of Letters, ones that don't lock up all that knowledge just for the sake of having it but actively get out there to help people.

It gets so crowded Sam decides to move out. Seeing Dean in good hands, he starts going to law school again. Though he misses having his brother around, Dean encourages him to do it. And is very happy to see Sam fall for this chick he meets in one of his classes. (Because one of them deserves a break, right?)

You'd think that Sam proposing to her a few years later, with all the talk of love and whatnot, Dean would've figured it out. Put two and two together. But apparently he is as emotionally constipated as has been suggested. It takes a girlfriend of his - a hunter turned partner turned lover turned actual honest to god girlfriend - to point it out.

They hit a rough patch, which happens. And in the heat of the moment, she yells at him that she's tired of not being enough for him. That he's clearly in love with someone else and it's not fair to her because she knows she can't live up to that.

"What are you talking about? I'm not-" Oh shit. Oh _shit_.

He falls back onto the nearest chair with a dull thud, world spinning around him under the weight of this long overdue epiphany. "Oh my god," he gasps. "I'm in love with Cas."

"Wait, you didn't know?" Then her annoyances shifts to concern. "Damn, you really didn't, did you? Fuck, sorry- I thought it was some ex or something-"

Dean just waves off her apologies. They end things, obviously. Even after he explains that Cas is definitely out of the picture, she just pats him gently on the arm and says it still won't work out. She doesn't want to be a rebound and he needs to get his shit together before he can offer anything in terms of a romantic relationship. They part friends, or at least he think he does. He's a little dazed by the whole thing.

It takes him a while to process all of it. To reevaluate him and Cas. And it's pretty fucking clear, now that he's objectively going through his memories. He's had it _bad_ for the angel for longer than he cares to admit. And fuck it all, he didn't even figure it out until _seven fucking years_ after the guy just up and disappeared on him. Ain't that a kick in the nuts?

("Sam," he'll casually ask one night he's visiting his brother and sister-in-law, his beautiful niece just tucked away to bed. "Did you know I was in love with Cas?"

Poor Sam will choke on his mashed potatoes. "Jesus Christ, Dean!" A whole glass of wine isn't enough to get his color looking normal but at least he doesn't appear on the brink of suffocating anymore. "Now? Seriously? _Now_ you figure this shit out?"

"So is that a yes?"

"Yes it's a fucking yes.")

Somewhere along the line, he kinda falls out of the hunting scene. Yes, he hunts and all that, but he doesn't live the nomadic hunter's life he's grown up with. No more long stretches on the road, no more room on hold for him in the bunker.

Instead he finds himself a place in Lawrence, which aside from the bunker is the only place that's ever been a home to him. Gets a job and everything. Apple pie life and all that. Well, his version of it anyway.

He dates. Mostly to avoid being lonely and to have some fun. There are women, then there are some men. (He spent a lot of time ignoring that part of himself, and he just plain old doesn't give a fuck anymore. If you get down to it, he's spent a large chunk of his life being miserable and he's just _done_ with that.) More often than not, he finds himself drawn to a pair of baby blues or messy dark hair. It's not the same, of course it isn't, but if it's the closest he's ever going to get...

But even though he dates, he keeps it pretty casual. All he's ever looking for is a drinking buddy that he occasionally gets to fuck. Some he hits it off with more than others, and sometimes they press him for more. Once or twice he tries at the more part, but he just can't get invested in it. Now that he knows what love feels like - the mushy kind of soulmate love they go on and on about in chick flicks, not quite the same as what he felt with Cassie and Lisa all those years ago - he realizes he can't settle for anything less.

A couple of his significant others are insulted. "You don't think that's something we could have?"

No amount of sugar coating can cover up the hard "No" he gives in answer.

 _Not unless you're gonna pull me from Hell, believe in me when even I couldn't, give up everything you know for me despite me telling you I don't deserve it. Not unless you can stand up to the Devil himself for me. Not unless you'll always come when I call, be for me even when I don't._

That type of bond isn't easy to forge and harder yet to break.

He prays to Cas. Not all the time, just when he's feeling particularly low. It's a habit he can't quite shake and isn't sure he wants to. Praying's the only connection he's got left to the angel, and even if those prayers aren't going through it's still kinda comforting. Tells him what he's been up to, about the movies he's seen or new faces he's met. Always ends with something sappy like, "I miss you," or "Would love to see you again," or "I hope you're happy, whenever you are, you deserve it after all we've been through." Something that makes his heart ache. Not in the gut wrenching way it used to, but in the more muted way that's lingered on.

Twenty two years later, all in all he's content in the little life he's carved out for himself. It ain't perfect, not by a long shot, but it's his and it ain't half bad. Hell, only thing missing is this angel-sized piece of his heart. But he's got a handle on that. He only has a few sleepless nights thinking over the what if's and should've been's of his life.

Well, he thinks he does anyway. That idea gets blown out of the water by a familiar set of blue eyes showing up on his door.

"Cas?"


	20. Chapter 20

**AN:** Boom - this is the *last* update for this story. Thank you guys so much for reading and sticking with me and commenting and all that jazz ;) Couldn't have done it without you!

Also, apologies, but this isn't a super written out chapter or anything. It's just some ideas on where things would go from here. And sorry for the formatting - this site doesn't really allow the way I wrote it to show up well :/

* * *

The first week  
\- Well, obviously they spend the first week fucking like bunnies. Now that they're over their issues, they get to completely enjoy losing themselves in each other. It's great. All they do is eat, sleep, shower, and fuck (and sometimes they do the last two at the same time).  
\- I say a week because, well, Dean can't keep up with Cas' stamina. There's one night they're making out on the couch, some abandoned movie playing in the background. And it's just kissing with the occasional touch, but mostly just kissing for the sake of it. But eventually Cas' hands and tongue start exploring more, gently but firmly rutting against the older man.  
\- Dean lets it go on for a bit before he pulls back as far as the couch allows. Cas automatically moves to follow, but a hand on his chest keeps him.  
\- "Cas, Thomas, babe... I would love to, seriously I would, but I'm running on empty here. You gotta slow the pace down or your gonna give me a heart attack or something."  
\- Cas will blush because he's embarrassed he didn't think about it. And maybe he's a little upset that he missed out on all the years between where they could've been doing this the whole time. But then he remembers that he's in this for more than Dean's (fantastic, Adonic, gorgeous) body. He loves *Dean*, and maybe he should be focusing a little less on the physical. They need balance in this, just like everything else.  
\- And they find that balance, it just takes some time.

Meeting Sam  
\- Sam hasn't technically seen or talked to Cas since he found out he is in fact Cas. The next time they get a chance, he and Dean take a road trip out to Wyoming.  
\- It's supposed to be a surprise, but Sam must hear the Impala's engine because he's right there when they pull into the driveway. And he gives Cas a look for about two seconds before crushing him in a giant bear hug that pretty much lifts him off the ground.  
\- Cas meets Sam's wife and daughter. They've been filled in on all the details, but they're still awed to meet *the* Castiel that pulled Dean from hell. They talk and talk, Dean just beaming the whole time.  
\- (And who can blame him? His favorite people altogether in one place? Dream come true.)  
\- Sam confirms that when he first met Thomas, he had a weird feeling about him. There was something familiar about him, something that felt almost like deja vu but still just a little off from that. When he'd talked to Dean afterward, it had kind of fallen into place. Of course, he hadn't said half of that to either of them before now.  
\- "I didn't want to get your hopes up," he exclaims when Dean glares at him. Turning to Thomas, he adds, "And I didn't want to put any pressure on you to be someone you maybe didn't want to be."  
\- Which both he and Dean have to admit was pretty fair of him.  
\- Cas and Dean stop by for every Thanksgiving after that. Or some years, Sam's family will make the trek out to Lawrence. Either way, Thanksgiving is a Winchester affair.

Thomas' Family  
\- This is a little trickier.  
\- Besides his sister, no one in Thomas' family has any idea that Dean exists or that Thomas is even in a relationship. With his sister running interference, the two of them manage to ease their parents into the idea of it.  
\- They ignore their extended family for now. Thomas loves the, but he knows that if he can get his parents on board with it, the rest of them will follow.  
\- They decide on driving up to his parents' place for a long weekend, starting with a good home cooked meal to introduce everyone. His sister offers to do most of the cooking, but their dad helps out. Dean and Thomas bring some wine and a fresh baked pie.  
\- Dean is adorably nervous. He spends *hours* picking out an appropriate outfit. He ends up going with nice slacks, a blue button up shirt with a dark gray tie and a navy blazer. If it weren't for their plans to meet his *parents*, Thomas would indulge in taking full advantage of how beautiful Dean looks... but they wouldn't be out of the bed for days so he lets go of those plans with a sigh.  
\- ("How about an IOU?" Dean teases as he kisses the frown lines on Thomas' face.)  
\- (It's actually the calmest Dean is for the next ten hours.)  
\- He fidgets on the long drive over from their motel. Although his parents had offered to let them stay at the house, Thomas was very against it. "It's not because I think things will go poorly," he assures Dean. "It's just I'd rather not be sleeping next to my boyfriend with my *parents* two rooms over. Even if all we're doing is sleeping."  
\- (And let's face it, that's not all they'll be doing.)  
\- It's probably good that they warned his parents ahead of time about Dean's age, since they're still surprised a bit when they open their front door and see him. Dean's smile is just a touch too constipated rather than relaxed, but Thomas is confident that a glad or two of wine will relax him.  
\- His parents are saints, though, and do their best to withhold judgement. They politely ask questions about Dean - his family, his job, his place in Lawrence. Each new piece of information they take in, comment on appropriately, but it never leads into further conversation. It's all small talk, surface level discourse that at the end of the day is pretty meaningless. Sure, they've collected a bunch of facts about Dean, but they're not actually getting to *know* him.  
\- When his sister goes to get the main course, he sneaks a hand under the table to give Dean's hand a reassuring squeeze. The other man's hand is clammy, but the gesture earns him a shy smile. The first genuine smile from Dean all evening. Dean calms down considerably after that, not needing the wine anyway, and flips the tables by asking Thomas' parents a bunch of questions. About their life, sure, but mostly about Thomas' childhood.  
\- They seem a bit surprised at first, but apparently Thomas is a topic all parties involved are more than happy to talk about. (Except of course, Thomas himself, who is mortified by half of their stories. Especially once his sister comments on how hot Dean is and it's no wonder he caught Thomas' eye, he's fallen for every decent looking dirty blond with green eyes in the tri-county area. Dean looks annoyingly smug after hearing that.)  
\- Things go better after that. Everyone at ease, the dinner goes more naturally. By the end of the night, his parents are convinced that Dean's affection for their son is genuine and reluctantly give their blessing. They see how happy Thomas is, happier than they can remember ever seeing him, and just don't have it in them to stand in the way of that.  
\- And let's face it. Dean is about the same age as Thomas' dad. They have a lot in common. Once they take Thomas out of the equation (or maybe, it's more they acknowledge that Thomas is the common ground between them to build a foundation for friendship), they get along really well.  
\- While Sam's family might get Thanksgiving, Thomas' family takes over Christmas.

Thomas' Sister  
\- It's agreed pretty early on that they won't tell Thomas' family about Cas. He worries that it would change how they look at him or make them feel that he cares about them less because they were such a small part of his life (in terms of the angel's entire lifespan, and he's afraid they wouldn't believe how much he cares about them and how monumentally important they are to him).  
\- And telling them about Cas goes hand in hand with telling them about hunting, and that's just too much. They're better off believing the lie Thomas told them about learning to be a mechanic with Dean and working on a novel on the side.  
\- ("You could actually write a novel, if you wanted to. Make you feel less guilty about lyin' to them."  
"Yes, write a cheesy Romance novel about an angel who fell in love with a man."  
"Cheesy? You calling our love story cheesy?"  
"I am literally an angel of the lord who fell - *fell* fell - because I fell in love with a human."  
"Stop saying fell."  
"Then admit it's cheesy."  
Dean sighs in exasperation. "It ain't cheesy. It's romantic as shit and you're not changing my mind on that." He points a finger at him in warning. "Do *not* tell Sam I said *any* of that.")  
\- They hesitate when it comes to Thomas' sister. She's certainly more open and would probably be able to handle the news. Dean refuses to offer an opinion, saying it's Thomas' family so it's Thomas' call, which is frustrating because he doesn't *want* to make the decision. So he puts it off for a while. Months, in fact.  
\- He'd completely forgotten the issue at all until they're hanging out with his family during July 4th. They're just lounging around on the grass, waiting for the fireworks to start, when Dean nudges him in the side. "Hey Cas, pass me the chips?"  
\- "Why did he just call you Cas?"  
\- Panic wells up inside him because oh god his hand is being forced what does he do what does he do-  
\- And without missing a beat, Dean just smiles and says, "Oh, cuz he's my Casanova."  
\- Dean will assure him later that his expression was "fucking priceless." But it does give him an excuse to call him both Thomas and Cas, so they count it as a win.  
\- Years more pass before he finally bites the bullet and tells his sister. He expects disbelief, at least a little, but she believes it word for word the first time she hears it. In the end, it's a relief to be able to share that part of himself with someone he loves. To further bridge the gap between Castiel and Thomas.  
\- I mean, she teases him about it, of course. But she's supportive. And when it comes to him and Dean, she just shrugs and says it makes sense. She always got a "profound bond" kind of vibe from them (well, the word she *actually* uses is "soulmaate" but Cas prefers the other term) and now she totally gets why.

Cas' Grace  
\- For the matter of Cas' grace, well, Dean's the one to bring it up. He keeps his face carefully neutral when he asks about it.  
\- "Do you know where it is?"  
\- He's getting the impression that this is an important topic to Dean, yet one that makes him uneasy. So Cas of course matches Dean's expression. "Yes."  
\- "Oh." There's long enough of a pause that Cas thinks that the conversation is over. "Do you uh-" Try as he might, Dean can't quite stop the nervous flush at the top of his ears. "Do you think you might uh... wanna get it back?"  
\- Cas has thought about this. Long and hard. He knows the answer, but he makes a show of thinking it over now. It's a show that's entirely for Dean's benefit. To demonstrate that it isn't a spontaneous, spur of the moment thing that he might go back on later. Very carefully he says, "No."  
\- And then he explains. That the deal he made with Heaven was only if he were human. If he gets his grace back, they might fold him back into things and he just really doesn't that. At all. Or maybe they'll decide to do something drastic, like tear it back out and make him start all over again as another newborn human. Or perhaps they'll finally realize that accommodating Castiel is no longer worth the effort and they'll just kill him outright.  
\- Dean's face grows more and more pained as Cas keeps talking, so he holds Dean's hand and keeps going. He's not finished explaining after all.  
\- Because though it might be nice to have his mojo back, he doesn't need it. His life is complete. He's not missing a piece of himself simply by lacking his grace.  
\- "Are you sure, Cas?" He's unconvinced, as always. He might be sure in Cas' love for him, but too many times had the angel chosen to leave him (no matter how temporarily) to do Heaven's bidding. There are old wounds there, ones even he hasn't outgrown. "It's basically your soul, right? Doesn't feel like your just... I don't know, missing a part of yourself?"  
\- Very deliberately, he takes Dean's hands into his own and looks him in the eyes. "I know what it's like to be missing a part of myself. I was missing you for twenty two years, Dean, so I'm quite intimately aware of the feeling. And my life - my *human* life here, with *you* - is just so whole that there's really no room left for anything else."  
\- Dean will deny crying a bit at that. At best he will acknowledge that there *may* have been a single man tear.


End file.
